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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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