bereft, better days where i mention escape,
intention is great.
fail to follow through and momentum's erased,
kinetic, contained. my method is flames
burning protests - white picketing fences again.
ain't no revolution if the system you rend
draws a line to tell you where it's meant to begin.
i left you the pin, the grenade's in our locket, if
i'm late for dinner we can feign it's apocalypse.
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