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me my poem
the wind the chill
the wind from the north
the Siberian low
the Monster ov the winter Chill
you freez the things we preserved
NORTH is not straight
I think it's going north west
I'm waiting for death
the poem was to short I jumped on my poney an went home
the wind from the north
the Siberian low
the Monster ov the winter Chill
you freez the things we preserved
NORTH is not straight
I think it's going north west
I'm waiting for death
the poem was to short I jumped on my poney an went home
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