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deepundergroundpoetry.com

Summer salt

It was at the time of õutlines
That I began an underlining quest
Burn this bridge on the south of the lands
And cut any of the ties we leave between them
They let the blind come out to hunt for wolves
The loss of vision creates an endless cradle of a distinct nature of blooming in per say what surroundings look with both ways
The woman carries out a frying pan
Beating down her mailbox since it seemed most suitable for her caliber
Whatever kept them alive you kept going with it
So there goes the delusion of the sheep who lost what freedoms they had for powers they never asked but only told for
Ill follow the woman with the frying pan
It only seems to be about the most sensible
Let’s break the undercover boss lurking in the shadows of our huts placed on the surviving oaks resting beyond a sacred endless river of fresh water
The last left in the world
And the ones with the powers greater than was known by man
Lay wicked and rested on the slopes of paradise
Away from these ravaging people
Lost in their own cares
Let’s hope they drink before they smokeL
Written by Inzomnia
Published
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