May 17, 2009
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Whether its a cloth or rope
Within its stitches,there is no hope
Not only polluting clarity
Not only stealing heart's charity
But fogging the glass
Turning gold into brass
Spreading like a plague
Making good dead
First just a blotch,eventually a cloth
Masking the face
Hiding the eyes
Whether its from disgrace
Or it be black or white
Nothing is what I find
But everyone,somewhere falls victim to blind

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