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For no apparent reason had the women been drawn in
Where rows of dusty books lay in an ominous display
But one ancient leather binding had the grain of human skin
And seized with curiosity she stole this book away
And now she sat alone in the concealment of the night
She was hungry now to liberate the writings from their cage
The glimmer of a feeble moon provided her with light
As she opened up the cover and began to read the page
Fly, soul, the body's guest,
Upon your impish arrant
Let none be guiled by false confession
Truth shall be your warrant
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