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The Battle Hymn of Anton Chigurh 

I was not born of woman
but issued from a cloud of darkness,
low on the horizon,
from pungent nothingness,
from dark and dense nowhere.

I emerged between meridians,
fluctuating boundaries of
malaria county, of the turbid
jungle depth with cannas causing
invisible slow flames, equatorial
and morose, in a night-ridden
enclosure.

I am the fever at the beginning
of the plague,
a scourge, calm, implacable,
like a hat worn by the storm-

the emanation in the bloodstream
before the secret trigger.

I am not the gun,
I am not the door.

I am the moment that
made the murder,
the march of time,
the engine of fate,
the river’s lost sleep,
a coin, a ghost.

I am the bottom of zero
that grabs your throat at the appointed hour,
clothed in honor
and promptness.

tra la la boom boom
I am an afternoon in Samarra.

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