Salvation
Hollow dreams and empty screams, nothing but dust, rust, and blood soaked efforts dried up and crust, kicking up a fuss. When I wonder, nothing but plunder after plunder, the bank account tumbling, and rumbling down its due course to its death after it has come apart fumbling. Alas, the end is nigh, when we will sit up high, looking down and around, at the people on the ground, when we no longer touch the dirt with our scarred feet; the day we become found.
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