If You'Ve Got the Poison We'Ve Got, the Remedy
Ironic, how these wheels of time come round about....
Metaphoric make-shift boats sailing back across her Atlantic
Refugees fleeing their ancient ruins ? Turgid waters crashing skies
Blame it on the revolution but the truth is, they were never more than
A footnote stuffed within some dusty book case kept, amid some dusty room.
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