April 28, 2012
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Fumes choke out the world.
Spitting out silver and gold.
They burn:
the wicked,
the cruel,
the brave.
Turn our forests to sand,
Turn babies into ash,
Lovers into corpses, that glimmer in the rain.
The fumes provoke you to talk.
You sew your mouth, wishing to get lost.
The fume swallow your kind,
Digging in your eyeballs,
Making you blind.
They hold you’re hand,
when you’re in pain.
Hold umbrella above your head.
Welcome the acid rain.
What are the fumes?
A kind, mammal or a ghost?
Their us, you, her and them.
Their our souls.
They sing when it’s dark.
Cruel beings deep inside our shallow heart.

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