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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Philosophy >> ID #1216991 |
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In hope to destroy, cretin underneath. Sin bury deep under, his soft pale skin. Not shown on his visage, Where the lost, Reflect the true self. Die for the lovers, Whose heart broke. Live for Satan and, His temptation. Only death can, Bring one upon his, Humble abode, Without ceremony, And rape him physically , And mentally of his privilege, To live and breath, Free land without, Consequence. Man continues to be, As corrupt, And necessity, Fulfilling unwavering hearts, To gleam the most Of the shame. Is this, What has become Of the proud?
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