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Too many wasted bombs on others, too many wasted seeds of deceit

Too much contrast to boast a helpful word in this world that rewards hate with a suite

You could save them for our own mass of morons, pulsating void of ignorance

Cloaked men invited from your union, two-faced murderers on a steady boat

Too many disappearing motivators looking to pay, dissipate, discard

I run the front desk - the hall they incessantly thrive in

Hiding away not from the plagues, it's the demons, installing their pain