Glass Mouse, what would this count for, given our earlier discussion about poetry?

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The night arises, cold and still;
Brings clinging mist to make you blind;
Come down underneath the hill,
That we can cut the shackles from your mind.
Though knowledge makes a bitter pill,
Is freedom not a better choice?
To choose if and why you kiss or kill?
Gain a say with your own voice?
Then come down with us beneath the hill...