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The Nonsense Anthem of Indrid Cold
2003-07-15 at 12:17 p.m.

Sleeping on Ice.

Come back, Indrid Cold!

There's a slick ice cliff waiting for your teeth!

There's a mighty wurlitzer playing!

There are Sherpas playing hacky-sack while you dance on air!

Come back now, Indrid Cold.

Be bold Indrid Cold, as you approach through the snow.

Return to a version of yourself when you were further down the slope.

Don't mope, Indrid Cold.

You were moping when your mother and father split.

You were moping when your brother died.

You were moping when 911 came and claimed all those souls.

Indrid Cold, poor Indrid Cold, flying like a suicide moth into flames again and again, emboldened by your vision of red screaming death.

And now it's the ice, Indrid Cold.

Slip clear and let the mothwings now free of their saving dust go limp and enfold you Indrid Cold as you fall.

Remember the blessings of curtains in June.

Soon sunlight across the feathers of the raptors that are coming to greet you will be the only thing between you and me.




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