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He stared at the eye of the caliginous sky, accepting its shining, warm embrace. An eye white as jasmine, a healer of aches; His grin extended to the dimples on his face,
Heavy triggers, pulled by little fingers, Wherever they sound, death always lingers, The deaths of innocence, and of childhood, Tiny killers stand, where tiny children stood.
The TV screen flickersShowing what I am so used toBut it's more horribleThan fun little pixelsThey are real peopleShedding real bloodFor a cause that's not so realI fret and worry