'08 I Suppose They Don'T Know Us At All
The mind is hastened forth by
By the redolent sentimentality
Of the idea of heart,
While the soul languishes
Within the detritus of society
And every mention of God
Flows freely as vomit
Out from the guts of pontifs
Expousing the virtue of
Their enlightened experiences
In the trenches of the common wealth,
And devouring their own ability
To know you and me.
Take it away from them!
Give it to us!
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