It is more like rotten wood, having soaked too long in water. More like stale food, once so succulent and fresh, now over ripe and revolting.
Yes it was a pretty sight by the river bed; I sat there forever for it was the nicest I had ever felt. But the river was damp, and my bones are mortal. I rot here as old bark; I rot here under my sweet smelling skin.
It keeps going on and on, infernal train, tortuous ticking of time. Though I sit and just watch it pass like some boat on the water while I’m on the river bed.
Yes it was a pretty sight by the river bed; I sat there forever for it was the nicest I had ever felt. But the river was damp, and my bones are mortal. I rot here as old bark; I rot here under my sweet smelling skin.
It keeps going on and on, infernal train, tortuous ticking of time. Though I sit and just watch it pass like some boat on the water while I’m on the river bed.
G.G. Melmoth
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