collector: (mirror my malady: transfer my tragedy)

needs must when the devil drives

and they became monsters

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Created on 2010-07-14 17:51:13 (#531326), last updated 2012-05-15 (279 weeks ago)

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Name:the fuckface who holds time itself in his hands

Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

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