Middle Earth - The Paraffin One - Aspoet
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The Paraffin One

2014-10-02 12:00 am
Apocalypse they prepped for never came,
For mother never even prepared for birth,
All, Among the leaves rot the same,
Yet none bother to even feed the earth.
For all that shoots becomes hostile,
Especially in the face of a newcomer;
Lowe the god that shoots the tile,
Bottle similar to that of his newborn.
Quoth the bottle: Leave my spirit,
No man burdened by free will,
Suppose the throttle is under skirt,
No man burnt will be free to chill.
Suppose we see our freedom filled,
Then who benchmarks freedom stilled?

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