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When we search for truth To end our troy with a mending truce Many will come From winds of directions To translate our fears While pacifiers display feign happiness So shall cajoling tongues clash In some ironic debate It's that time of the year When words are the fervent tools Employed in crammed crusades Sweat,skin and blood all to persuade And more,some gold; harlot for the ballot How then shall you win me.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

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