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By DesDownunder

They fled from the tomb,

As soon as I lifted the lid,

Sighing…It was always the same,

The moment they saw whom

I had become,

They then ran away,

As fast as they could and hid,

Crying…for what each of them saw,

In disarray,

Trying to escape,

As I fell about and slid

Screeching…unable yet to cope,

With my new, too long cape.

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I had to let the drugs take control before reflecting on this one. Even princes of the undead suffer embarrassing moments, and tailors are the bane of a well-dressed being. Why are they in the tomb in the first place, except to see a frozen bit of restrained decomposition. Is there anything this poor soul could have become that did not distress his visitors. If only they had conquered fear and greeting the resident.

On the other hand, I had a wonderful discussion at week's end with a friend about forgiveness, redemption, and karma. The final word of the few we spoke was "entanglement."

Thanks for giving me a smile and some reflection.

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At first I thought you need a new tailor. Then it occured you wouldn't have a cape that was too long, so you must have shrunk, in coffin delicto.

I think I'll wait for a copy of Bi_Janus's prescription, to sort it all out. :accordion[1]:

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