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Description
They say the eyes are the windows of the soul,
and maybe they're right,
because these windows are all that's left to look through;

and as I peel back the drapes and peer outside,
though all I can see is a blustering snowstorm
at least I still compare it as such;

and with one last chance to make my mark
I scream into the voidless void
and then my panes are one with the constant buzz.