You and I, dear, can obliterate many a problem,

For our love is but a rose; thorny yet winsome,

Thence through these winds, we shall blossom.

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So fortified do I feel in your embrace

As if your arms were made of tungsten

Harder to be broken, or set ablaze.

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The Memory of You

In this soulless and lifeless sphere,

You’re the air that carries me through,

So better it’d be if I were to go to glory,

Than if I were to lose my memory;

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