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Behemoths of stone Surround us as we huddle close The chill whips at our backs Our numb bodies our the only hope of warmth Still we labor on As they are running wholly fearful Of the sleeping giant waking To find a world in disrepair They took it all away Our electricity and heat The drone’s of the established Corrupted aristocracy
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Written by
robert-potter
American
Published
Oct 29, 2011
Lines·Words
14·61
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