this bizarre plea for that dystopia

dug here with slumber  

which might sleep for friendship.

maybe creep and demise passing,

a prayer and an assembly,

me and God in his chamber,

a euphoric chalice

that grasps a spade to dig

but who am I to find such bliss in the anxious ground?

I take a spade and dig

but who am I to find such bliss in the anxious ground?

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