Washing waves of the cold sea,
Crashing through hollow caves, and splashing onto me.
Sweet death is far, though closer than I know,
Her hair is the black tar, of so many hearts, and the demonic face is paler
than snow.

Why does she run? Why does she hide?
Maybe my turmoil ruins her fun. Another wave comes with the tide.
My frozen house is far from home. But, for now, it will do.
For now, I shall roam. For now, blank memories shall rue.
 
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