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Rusty Broadspear

Pulling chains
That go nowhere
Grinding bones
Pulling hair.
Memories die
Like falling dominoes
Going where
God only knows.
Back slashed
Over and over
Brain, spirit, soul
In supanova.
Crashing inwards
Brothers seep, die
No room
And only dry cry.
Sing as choir
Violin crescendo
Higher than higher.
Beyond all dreams
Lone boy soprano
Ecstacy, extremes.
If I'm lucky
I'll father a child
As I die
Dehumanised, defiled.
Child will grow
Bestow and tell
Of the unlife of Father
And his hell.

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