| We know the secret reason,
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| the reason for his parricide,
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| the silent and illusive try to stop the fleeting hand of time.
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| A strategy, that will always be
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| but a hopeless venture, bound to fail,
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| and all he ever does conceive is a twisted kind of burial;
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| which he had never thought to yield…-
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| as something further lies concealed.
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| Burying the children in a hurry, secretly within the tomb,
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| in the gentle safety … of his own belly,
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| where, soundly asleep, they’ll be waiting for
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| the time of their delivery … and exactly that’s the irony!
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| Something that he had never thought to yield…-
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| as something further lies concealed.
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| Fear… this is the secret name,
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| driving force and motivation
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| for his attempt to stop the wheel;
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| yes, something further lies concealed.
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| We truly know the secret reason,
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| still something further lies concealed,
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| the dreadful murder, a sad illusion,
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| now something else shall be revealed:
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| I, your child, bury myself
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| within your body… eagerly,
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| forbidden taste, never admitted,
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| driven by the ghouls of fear.
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| Refuge for unspoken longing (s),
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| we are not quite ready for this world…-
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| in silent slumber of a darker safety…-
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| into my mother’s womb I want to return. |