He Is standing in the woods writing this poem under moonlit skys. If I touch a burning candle I can feel no pain If you cut me with a knife it's still the same And I know his heart is beating And I know that I am dead Yet the pain here that I feel Try and tell me it's not real It seems that I still have a tear to shed In the ice or in the sun it's all the same Yet I feel my heart is aching And the pain here that I feel

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