Safe Haven
In this murky swamp
Where oxygen cannot creep
Dark is the blood of children
Playfully allowed sleep
Westward facing
A new front of tears
Delivers misfortune
To their black masked fears
The axiom of power
Opens and closes its hand
And with casualty
It makes a casual demand
To take sword to justice
With swift stroke to limb
And lullaby the young
With tales of grim.
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