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A VacummHe is music, Gasping out his soul To the wails of pounding pianos Reverberating through the prison halls. And when he speaks His rose petal voice finds the fire And is perverted into ashen thorns which Choke his quivering throat. He is music, Noise in a vacumm, Vibrations on the moon, Screams slipping through the sun. He is music. And there is nothing more to him Than that.