Ignorance is bliss, misdirection hits my midsection and leaves me spitting from spins, epistle anonymous written in hymns where pews are the conduit, but sung in stanzas and lyrics, candles for clerics, Kantian queries but senses are but appearances, fleeting and eerie but easy on the hearing. And when we stopped receiving we lost a lotta reasons to believe- the thoughts unconceived, meteors in skies just rocks and debris, coffins can't bleed except through pages, newspaper clippings. Rage against ruminators emitting thoughts in perfect synchronization- machines or common pause's containment? Understatement. Sisyphus fell so we all roll on. Emeritus hell, help us along.
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