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We are insular
In this times
And with this aid
We're mighty
As all thrones
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The decades
Cry is somewhat delayed
Ink on pen
Like stubble.
Let me tell you
Where the wires reach
We're Jesus men
They do not preach
But slot like coins
In angry lines
And debonairs
Have little time
I crushed the world
It was mush in hand
It suckled breast
Till it could stand
It marched
Upon stilettos heel
To.taste the blood
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