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Riddling rhymes,
Made by the poor,
Squandering rhythms
Like never before.

Speaking justice,
Of reeking laughter.
Scattered screeches,
Of the new world order.

Like so many before,
The eyes of the young,
They speak of deplore.
From, just the few ones,
That take it by hand,
They own it all,
Starting from the land.

Mistaken virtues,
Of the weakened faith.
Now that they are losing,
They proclaim it's too late,
The End of the world,
Is now, right at their gates.

They hold them fast,
They hold them tight.
Has always been forbidden
By their most pure, faith.

And as they chained me,
From when i was young,
Nobody told me,
I was never hung.

Boiling flesh,
The needs of the world,
Abandon them,
Curse your body from it all.

I speak not true,
Weakened laughter,
To be amused.

Call me true,
Tell me why?
Why was he to die?

I am too tall, but i am crawling here, The world is too small for us all, But let's stuff them here.

Blame me, Bruise me, Hurt me, Amuse me.

Oh, Surely,
It's the devil in my ear.


The Dead Revolutionary

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