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Some of the People, All of the Time

Not again

This always happens.

It's become the air that I breathe

They take the breath right out of me.

 

I sit to hide

Hide from the metallic screams.

I pray it will end soon

Remnants of their actions plague the earth.

 

Now let me tremble

Let me escape this hell I feel.

I will reconcile the injustice of their neglect

I won't go quietly, give in to you.

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Written by
brady-johnson
American
Published
Feb 2, 2012
Lines·Words
12·69
Permission

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