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Like a dream it usually begins,
When one feels hollow from within,
Deep down the heart there's an emptiness,
A world in a murky state of blackness.
And from within rings,
A wave of spiral strings...
It was all about love,
Given but not received,
But slowly and bitterly,
The truth surfaced,
Bringing blindness to one's sight.
And thoughts thudding...
But the canon stuck,
Right at the middle of the heart,
Grief growing more intense,
As thoughts get disgusted at sleaziness.
Inflaming from within a tantrum,
And then a squeal...
One has been living a solitary life,
Without an inkling of the exploit,
Alas there's enough room,
Enough room for gloom.
And from one's lurch echoes,
A mourning that reaches a crescendo,
El Magnifico el est Magico!