On the back of a pack of matches, I wrote a letter today. With a bottle of keros ene, I toast to the bourgeoisie. Tonight, they say everything's gonna be okay. T onight, they say, everything's gonna be alright... yeah right. Not-so-silent wea pons for not-so-quiet wars. Still feels like I'm on trial. Still got my name on file. I carve notes like votes on a cinderblock. Matchbook poets, you know we le ave paper trails like coffin nails. On the back of a pack of matches, I wrote a letter today. On the back of a pack of matches, I wrote my eulogy.
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