At midnight, deep beneath D.C.'s pride,
A tunnel breathed secrets the daylight hides.
Pennsylvania Avenue—so clean, so grand—
But under its bones lies a cursed land.
Dark suits walk halls soaked in red,
A velvet silence where the truth lies dead.
The walls pulse with symbols from ages old,
Carved by hands both cruel and cold.
Fridges hum like funeral songs,
Storing innocence stolen...
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