Blow Of The Wind
When the foul whispers overblow
The wind will blow like sickle
The glib tongues of the perfect will rip
And like rotten papers, they will tear
The mouth that raged without reason
In pain, will cry a tear
And the hateful heart will burn
In it's flames, life will drown
No amount of saving will spare
The oppressive eyes cry regret
But the time is already too late
For the barrel has overflowed
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