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Charity found in clarified thought.
Harlequins in dormitories quickly sought.
Indiscretions come with ease.
Liberated by a youthful ******.
Dilation found in most pupils.
Birthed in the hell of forgotten scruples.
Irate over nature's gift.
Renounced parentage moves in swift.
Theologians they're not to be.
Heathens, they are, as it's clear to see.

Insurrection from a parents hope.
Secured through the first ****.

Nodding off to dreams of bliss.
Organized by pots of ****.
Tempting fate with a play on chance.

A child's born through horizontal dance.

Vindication came during a failure at grace.
A look of contempt etched across a father's face.
Composure slipped through the cracks.
Adolescents and their empty sacks.
Tying nots in a diluted fashion.
Insulating them from drifting passion.
On and off they float along.
Nullified in the end by unwanted spawn.
Opinion is something to be treasured.
Worn thin until it's weathered.
Not left aside on desolate streets.
To be resurected by mindless freaks.
A young preacher stands before his flock, and speaks of beliefs others mock. The man of 26 outstretched his hand, and asked his constituents to calmly stand. He spoke of God's eternal might, to a crowd whose complexion was wholly white.

Every member in attendance wore their hood, and gazed at the pulpit made of wood. Hatred and anger reigned supreme, in men whose whole intent was to demean. Eyes locked onto the man and his christened throne, preaching that blacks have no right to atone.

"All men are not created equal, some were born with a predisposition towards evil. There skin scorched an unholy black, whose sole purpose is held within a cotton sack. Do not believe those who will put them on equal footing, it is our righteous hand chosen to deliver the whooping."

The young preacher, dressed in red, spoke every falsity he had ever read. The multitudes engulfed every word, even though it was all completely absurd. In the end, an angry chorus erupted, with false speech even further corrupted. The men in their hoods of white, ran off to stir up an ancient plight.

Racism fuelled by the corrupted verse, founded by those speaking scripture in a segregated hearse. On her way to the back of the bus, death comes to any soul who tries to raise a fuss. John the Baptist watches in awe, as ****** racists remove, what they deem to be, natures great flaw.

The removal of self devised thought, leaves Catholicism an empty plot, to control any way they please, as long as one's sure to bend their knees. Cast off individual beliefs, and adopt those of archaic chiefs. Accept the principals of a nubile world, and understand colours should never be swirled.
Heretics lost their way in the glare of divided philosophy.
While soaking up the rays protruding from their diluted progeny.

Individuality cursed the lot, a painful conclusion hardly sought.
A triptych constructed from passing sand, blown across mid-western land.
Panel one, a fools thought. Panel two, elongated plot.
Panel three, an outstretched hand. Collectively composing an image banned.
Words for the flock corrupt the soul.
Removed thought perched along a grassy knoll.
Heaven revoked all notions of vanity,
While tenderly clouding the wonders of individual sanity.
Why throw money at problems?... That's what money is for.
Bolo tie
Primped and fly
Dining on nostalgia, for nostalgia’s sake
Living off the food at Kurt Cobain’s wake
Pressing a Mangum to your head
A case of Velvet dread
Addicts caught up in the Reed(s)
Sticky Fingers and their steeds
A Moonlit Mile
A case of Kurt Vile
A Day Dream Nation’s falling apart
Little Wing's lost its heart
False Prophets speak in shades only equipped for your ears
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