In a world that's not so giving
there is no forgiving
all the things that we have done
A sadness of misgiving
to still go on living
as we bow down to the gun
And our tirade seems so daunting
a soulful kind of haunting
that leaves us all perturbed
A sinful fling we're flaunting
morally tainted taunting
that has me quite distrubed
A choice is what we were given
the only grace we've ever known
To die or to go on living
their lessons learned, the dying moan
as always, wordsy "a thin trail of whispers
across a wandering mind
faint flashes of fantasy
that I often find
merely jaded shadows
of who I used to be
they fill with words, my pages
for all the world to see"
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