P. S. Burton
	White Pasture Suicidal thoughts pass through my head Fall to the ground like hot snow, dead! Wondering where I dwell now a sight of hell, Of life gone bye hot rocks dry water and cold air, Alone and here this place, I shall dwell, Till light looses its light. A candle blew out and I there sit a ghost of the place I dwell, Suicidal thoughts pass thought my head, Fall to the ground like hot snow, dead! yet i reached Nirvana

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