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We sat along the mountainside
And talked of little things in life.
A Thursday morning, stars in sky,
Apocalypse, a butchers knife.

Later, under a moonlit sky
I saw again a little thing.
In the shape of a web caught fly
And suddenly I felt the sting.

The sting of heartbeat, sting of life,
Survivor instinct fell to me.
And so upon that lonely night,
I walked away and left him be.

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