South CHIolin winds howl past great lakes
ashes wasted on lames fakin foul
no traces of powder
my patience is power risin
crowded lines of men pacin
contemplatin the heights of this Dart Tower of light
the hour is nigh
christ and the twelve disciples strike divine ciphers
the blind die of thirst
bleedin ice water, drinkin wine till they burst
the first shall be last
blasted shell burst shatters glass
a carpenter's passion crafted the madness of his passage
but after the laughter he revealed pain and mathematics
the chains of middle passage
rain and the sadness
refugees beg change from those that had it
it never came and the situation was deemed tragic
faced with truth some choose to sleep in their caskets
I dream of blastin chips
breathin plastic visions and attackin the system
this assassin is viscious in givin foes damage
focused on classics I close this chapter on broken programs
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