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The Safety Fire
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Yellowism
Put the man on the stand
A sentence to end him
The word became cold flesh on a noose
The gallows his picture frame
I'll talk to god about the souls I've pulled out
Run my fingers through their hair
Tyrants of meaning
Monopolies of beauty
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'Even flowers are black at night'
I'll make my morals from the bottom up
Sweet depravity my god
My only power not in a word
He smiled all the way down
The punch line silenced
Read his scars like a psalm
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