Sheilding my face with my very means of survival. The very weapons abused, left to rot through to the bone, Just one foot from equaling the six below. Deaf / de feated, where peace of mind tightens it's grip among a smoldering variable. Hell . Vomiting. A few personal unnamed choruses of goodwill toward man that I have l eft. Dusting my finger prints. The caskets of the ill-taxed still withering in o pposition, regardless of past lessons, proving the human condition and it's rema ins kept at my side.
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