When

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When love is at an end,
I turn to the dead again;
they can’t falter from my projection,
nor suffer me rejection.
When love is at an end,
I turn to the dead again.

When love is at its start,
I walk from them apart,
caught in such fanciful delight
that is attachment’s plight.
When love is at its start,
I walk from them apart.

When love is at an end,
I turn to the dead again.

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