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The sun Set on the King, His crown gleaming as he, Shrieked with hatred That the sun was commanding the attention Of the world.
Intimacy measured with supplies yardstick Tender sun shines on the oppulent Red stains encrusted by white Escutcheon covers the fraudulent With mesial in muck Abstract of the unconscious gunner
Morning bells boom betwixt lofting ashes and Unsheathed blokes razing the town; Pirates about pillaging and raping As they please; Militia have fled the town. Morning bells strike as the hanging and
Closed walls, walled hearts narrow halls, hollow parts. A man alone, set apart Black Turnstone, hidden heart. High throne, thin skin
Men kneel to kings, And kings kneel to gods. And though no monarchy holds my allegiance, And no deity my faith,