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Smokey Cells
It's a happy, happy world
Where brothers kill my soul
And the lightening strikes me down;
No breathing, not a sound.
Thunder erupting within
Reacting to his vicious sin
Succumbed to the breath
Of him, where meth-
ical monsters thrive
Only irises of red does he arrive
To purloin Pandora's box
Of values, pawning in demand
Rocks, locks, jewels and
Cocks the gun does he
Aiming for sanity
That doesn't exist; rule the green,
Supreme master of pseudo.
You are the last occupant. Kudos.
No longer in your fogged vision,
I am free;
You are gone.
I can finally see.
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