What a Sick Way
You my muse I your vice ,what a sick way to exist treating a human like a device, what a distorted image that has been painted ,things could of been wonderous but wound up tainted,I pour my colors into you but they run down your cold steel shell and spill on the floor ,at your feet I am But a puddle , a rainbow turns to mud,singing out yearning words of curdling blood, oh sterile mechanical man why have you driven me to bland land
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