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The devil is i, and i the devil. A reflection of his ashes made flesh, intentions once 
good, a captive, now deformed, becoming the syndrome that is Stockholm. Yet, i 
still part of the "norm", with an appetite for destruction like a Gun and Rose song, 
can't seem to find the "norm" in my everyday anxieties . You see the future is my 
father and I his bastard, can't fast forward I'm the past, that can never lead to 
the present. Therefore I, resent false ambitions, peace conditions and the 
mechanism of your social views. Which are ever skewed and taken apart by a 
universal tool; a silver tongue bastard, as I. So don't shy away, let the foreplay 
begin, as i finagle your hope and let it climax and becomes your demise.



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