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Seething in Your lie
Sleep with a gun
Wake up shooting
Art is the picture painted
The tongue is your brush
So quit dipping it in lies
And say what you mean
Buried underground
Finally a defense,
You’ll never hear a sound,
Against your ignorance
The wet sand sucked you under
But you’d already buried yourself,
Beneath six feet of inherited hate
-Sorry?
Check mate
We're done
Too little, much too late
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