Scenic stones turning over molded clay, with a seasonal comb over
He played the motions of fate with a cold shoulder, lacing a potent taste
Of serotonin an carefully woven waste, laid over a careless soldiers grave
Parents at home in the states, prepared for a soulful embrace,
Get ensnared by a sorrow that rakes, breaking their borrowed faith.
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"A culture is only as great as its dreams, and its dreams are dreamed by artists."
-L. Ron Hubbard
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