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Vague symbolism . . .
I saw her walk out of the broken-down house and into the alley behind it. I don't know why, but I followed her. She was beautiful. Slightly pale in comparison to her dark brown, nearly black hair. She wore a white dress which flowed gently in the light evening breeze. I followed her some distance before she became aware of my presence. As we approached the circle of light provided by a streetlight in the alley, she spun around to look at me. She said nothing, and showed no emotion. No fear, no curiosity, no disturbance was present to adulterate the purity of her features. She simply bit her bottom lip, and stared at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but she silenced me with a gesture. She stared at me, stared into me, stared right into the bottom of my desires, wishes, dreams and ambitions. And then something exciting, awe-inspiring, and frightening happened. She began to cry, silently. And as she wept, without a sound, her bottom lip, which she had been biting with increasing force for several moments, began to bleed. And the blood from her lips and the tears from her eyes coverged, and fell to the pavement, landing, splattering in hypnotic swirls.
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And as we wind on down the road, our shadows taller than our souls, there walks a lady we all know, who shines white light and wants to show how everything still turns to gold. And if you listen very hard the tune will come to you at last, when all are one, and one is all, to be a rock and not to roll. . .
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