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more chaos for the wolves circling

what do you think time works in reverse like the way the stars fall for the sand, like the

thunder was had before the lighting crashed striking the curl of the wave of the hand

like the punishment was given before the symptom was discovered to be living within

we can create reason for all things under the sun, it is a sin the way man wants, what is

it is a sin to be thinking then for now and now for then and all beneath the sun as one

have you learned your lessons yet, have you earned what is coming, have you been given

the time, who was the time, when was it again, wherefore art thou head in the sand arrows

land pointed toward objects aimed for and drawn, before the moment was there is time

before the time clocked the thought passed and within the mind a diamond crushed a child

sacrificed to the altar of all seeing eyes in the realm of dice thrown, crossed bones, just

another mindless dawn, for the crop, circle, suicide. and for the mind whom sentience so

inclined to be rattling the coiled rope in the basket of the begger, flute in hand, was just

about to begin the song when memories floating by and by, in and out of the shut down

I swear my computer died before I saw her eyes and I thought I would never return again

what was the question then, I still don't know the answers of things because I am afraid to

give in, what was a thought, passed effortlessly by I swear that's why the dog was in the pew

that night with a peacock made of written curses beneath a black cross on top of the hill, it

the metaphorical explanation of years spent bending around the will of idiotic corpses walk

they don't want to walk crooked they walk, to and fro the pendulum swings, back and forth

forever it is just a circumstance of the scribe unto nothingness, mark the date and date the

lamp, to never find thyself worthy behind a desk, to never actually basking in it, that's a God

Damn shame, it was always poison for you from the beginning to the end, my fangs, dryer

than a diamond in a salt mine by the time I got to Brooklyn, and a far cry from being a fox

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