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Pain it wishes not to bestow,

but pain is all it will know.

It slices another cut

it would rather do anything but.

It would rather hide

than through soft skin glide.

It would rather carve clay

than across a vain play.

The ozze surrounds it,

the girls face, emotionless, by a light is lit.

It wants to shout to her,

it wants to be the comforter.

It`s tortured face screams in pain,

as from her vain the blood does drain.