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It'd make sense to sell books filled with psalms our love has inspired. Profit from the nonstop poems venting the glories I admired, But it's not worth a dime , not even a dollar,
Electrical boxes blasting our eyes, Sending images of fear and conflict, Talking like a serpent, which is unwise, Illustrating a dove as a convict. Every time, the deception keeps going,
So many voices chattering their teeth, spreading lies and deceit wherever they please. So many voices— when will they stop? for I cannot hear myself think.
When the raging battle seeks to steal my joy, My tears trickle down my face. That's when I like to employ, My unbeatable fighting Ace. I lay down the Truth, Let the lies flee.
everyday i walk out throught the shadows of the valleys of death there is war that rages on that's becoming a ritual where evil lurks and strikes on the weak God is with me , i'm with Him therefore, we bear fruit