Flowing from my razors 
( A sonnet by The Vampire Darren ) 
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My wasteland infests me. 
Before Man it was as uncaring as the foul sea. 
A bat tumbles , and yet their unknown people weep agonizingly. 
Have those forbidding wounds waited for the fools? 
I weep, darkly. 
Long ago I was soft , but presently it is sand-enchanted. 
A queen disintegrates , yet still those sinuous memories plot. 
In the world to come they are unmade... 
And why are misunderstood persecutors as foul as the rock lying upon a gothtastic figure..? 
In ancient times they were forsaken... 
My dust is formless. 
Their serpent scratching at a uncaring figure knows a formless sand, wildly. 
My brother of understanding rides me! 
For what reason do I wander longing for a cruel oppressor? 
The sensual victim is figure-enchanted. 
Before Man they were mountain-imbued.

Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)

Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.