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We are the hollow men. We are the stuffed men. Leaning togetherHeadpiece filled with straw, Alas!
~~~~~
Our dried voices, when we whisper together are quiet and meaningless...
As wind in dry grass, or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without color, paralyzed force, gesture without motion...
Those who have crossed with direct eyes to death's other Kingdom...
Remember us - if at all - not as lost violent souls...
...but only as the hollow men. The stuffed men.
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