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Writer's pictureDarkling Thrushes

The Ogres at the Crossroads

What business is this?  Let us see, for 

Your vested interests have blinded you: 

Like slobbering diseased Ogres, 

Who have taken up the sword against us. 

 

We may slay you in your sleep as you try, 

Desperately to understand, a surgical mistake, 

An incision that reaches from the throat 

Downward, to stuff you with sanity pills. 

 

But the truth you have concealed inside, 

Will spew forth like a violent fantasy in 

A heartless world; full of whips, chains, and desks; 

We'll pay; the key to the Bottomless Pit. 

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