Make Myself Fuel
S
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Ice-age thoroughfare foggy
I'm but lone wayfarer, a scout
Going towards the nadir in fact
No, the hungry snow-storm too my companion;
What a draught!
A hostile, a clumsy bogey
Follower of the doctrine of holding out.
Waiting to make me meal.
I ‘m too trickster, applied tact
Make myself fuel and inflamed fire with zeal.
Bu şiiri puanla
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