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Tyburns

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To my teachers:

What's taught
rethought
exact
intact
Never to have what's taught rethought here.
All we have learned, exact intact lies.

To my Father:

To run
My son
Is bad
My lad.
'Tis good to stay, to run, my son, bad.
To stay, to rot, is bad, my lad, dad.

To anyone:

Indeed
We bleed
red tears
long years
In truth we die, indeed we bleed tears
Tears, weary tears, red tears, long years pass



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