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In trailing down the rabbit hole it matters not which dice I roll. Peer to my left and make a right, no sole direction carries light. Test my resolve, regard the price, can�t seem to settle where she lies; the bunny's hiding in plain sight. Ever (so) short a glimpse casts hope as I yearn for yore, my dead man's rope. Yet fright dawns on mourning's night: the bunny died... or, never was. |