Epistle to Myself

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Halt, halt ere thy feeling goes wander,

Halt, halt ere thy heart falls there yonder.

Ere thy soul starts orbit that of his,

And thy body then cries in a whizz

For it hath become his satellite.

Though thou may feel nothing but delight,

Yet its power’s mighty, thou think not.

Thy tragedy therefore shall begot.

Halt, halt ere thy suffering arises.

Halt, halt ere thy ending is demise.


Suggested soundtrack: Gymonopédie No. 3 by Erik Satie