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my words have power like thunder in an otherwise quiet night they reach ears miles from their source a crack of light with each ink stain while the message is carried across cities
The feeling of the brush compares not to the feeling of the stone I know not the true intent of god Yet i persue The ruse that comes from the hunt The height, the danger All things fall
I am from the tribe. From the ancestors and animals. My skin betraying the darkness it should be. I am from the native, yet I am also from the irish man. I am from the mix.