Corpses stuffed full of blood
And dirt,
Dancers thronging around
Statues made of lies,
A world shattered,
Blasted and burnt.
The apathetic gray
Of shattered skies.
Tied to strings
And made to dance,
The dirt stuffed corpses
Begin to prance,
Made to act and play
Like their lives matter.
They do it again,
From day to day.














Comments
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Hello.
I love you. Love me back with viewing my gallery.
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My Gallery has art in it again!!!
I have prints for sale
Check this out [link] it's by MarianKretschmer [link]
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Then I went down into the basement where my friend, the maniac, busies himself with his electronic graffiti.
Finally his language touches me, because he talks to that part of us which insists on drawing profiles on prison walls. -West Rider Silver Bullet.
The tickets to see the show seem to unify the players better than the string ever could, one wonders if such tactics are needed at all.
--
My Gallery has art in it again!!!
I have prints for sale
Check this out [link] it's by MarianKretschmer [link]
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