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FOR A METAMORPHOSIS AT WALDEN POND I suck out the marrow, but may I ask why? For is it not life that causes me to die? And if to be awake is indeed to be alive, Then is to sleep also to die? I am all alone in this forest People are hell I can feel my brittle breath But cannot see my fragile self Am I really here? Because it is so hard to tell These damned divine woods Take me further from Hell…