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There where motion becomes impossible
And standing becomes bitter
There I am with stiffened legs
Bending motionlessly over
That oozing body, the life
With all six senses alert.
There where my soul echoes the pangs
Of pain. Help me! Yet knowing
Naught to do, there I am.
The scenario has locked my throat
And sucked the words out of me,
Yet I stutter, 'my beloved Thomas,
We will meet again, however
Distant we really are.'