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A spider's living in the pipes
of my summer Dover home
and though I share no gripes
I still am asking him to go
He shows no signs of venom
to my simple, human eye,
but still, I have no serum
for what toxin he might apply
his eight long legs still haunt me
I see them peeking from the drain
and into my eyeballs
oh the horror, shout the pain!
His sight's enough to paralyze
the bravest of the bold
but even when I grow fat and old
I'll see him gouging out my eyes!
Like 50,000 feet high, start doing jumping jacks until you're dead tired & inhale like there's no tomorrow,
face it, there aint one, so just
Spread out and cool off where the Strato & Mesosphere meet,
I know a guy who can hook you up, he looks shady but he's good, and besides he's got connections to some solid S-Rank Ozone,
we're talking military grade,
stuff that makes you think you got wax wings dig?
Yeah, snot impossible these days to make it look any cleaner than it did since last era, the last time we inhaled
  fresh air,
its funny how one only misses that thing when its gone, but then if there's another way for nostalgia to function i'm all ears.
I am not socially concious haha
Old ember reveals an open heart
Quenched by neither wind nor rain,
Waiting patiently a catalytic start
So it may become a flame again.
To ignite the ****** fires within
What fuel deserves this precious coal?
What must be done to overcome the din
That leaves man longing for his soul?
Inspiration sparks a gentle light,
Look into that orange-crimson plume
To embolden you; rekindle your might
And search for salvation over doom.

Only when the jungle’s burned away
Will you ever know the clear, bright, day.
I have felt the sting
of a thousand killer bees,
and allowed my heart to sieze
upon the beatings of their wings.
I swear this gypsy's such a slouch,
There's no way to make her leave,
She just sits there on the couch
While slipping heirlooms up her sleeve,
She'll sacrifice goats on the kitchen table
Every night before going to bed,
And tells my children horrifying fables
Of gypsy "heroes" rising from the dead,
She once poisoned me with her gypsy brew
And "cared" for me when I struck ill,
She told my wife she was "just passing through"
But on the couch I find her still,
And when we all get nice and tipsy
she'll plead "just one more day!"
i'll never be free of this gypsy,
I'm sure she'll never go away.
Letting my mind wander for a moment a semifamiliar memory cropped into view,
In it a strange hand wrote on a scratchpad, three letters that spelled out:
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