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ArtistAs the guts fill with sheer terror, My cup falls, opens a burrow. Pitch black hands rise and come forward, To reach me, with long arms narrow. As one lastly grasps my neck, It injects, with black, spine’s marrow, As floor's crumbling, I’m pulled, To a nightmare, filled with sorrow.
It responds very well to the sentiment in the poem fragment, but this time it did not interpret the words, but only the sentiment.
