Feed mechanic splendor, wipe a
Waxed terrapin sheen, a glossing
Over run amok to stabilize a brother's
Toppling tower, straw-built, sound.
To rectify theatrics not assembled in
Thy hand as birds lie calmly,
Fisted still, another's brazen fury
Soft abate. Grind to gravel Colosseum,
Looms above in marked hate, to
Rid of bower want by us, and vision creeps
Of error pending, wretched, worn, and pity
Marked in battle's honor, force demand we
Thus to Find Thyself, and ohm awaits, so
Haste to solace, haste nirvana,
Onward progress!
Rush to wait.
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