

Wrong TurnBeautifully burnt tinderbox boy -Wrong Turn
he returns his top-hat to the coat rack, never once touching his sore, red scars.
He cries out for socialism to take his shoe-shine hands to a lump of coal. He doesn't need pushing, just pulling.
Full of fear, he can sleep, shivering. More than once, a bloated fist has drawn blood; drawn him out of restless solitude.
Not the sort of company you'd keep. You've learnt to shine your own shoes, to avoid even a chance meeting. Cold, cruel world.
Hardly. Pull another tooth, will you? The


The CellarStraight out of childhood, Into the pit Innocence stolen Nose shoved in shitThe Cellar
Drowning in misery Our morals are tossed Fatigued from the beating Our hearts pump with sloth
Life without meaning Were do we turn
Searching for purpose But only get burned
Outcast society One brick at a time
Building our sovereignty Blind lead the blind
Retreating to the cellar
Our futures are lost
You play with our destiny And we pay the cost Retreating to the cellar
Hiding the marks Lost in the cellar
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Kikikiki
Friar's Tuck!
Music!
Oooh! I'm your first comment!
--
Cogito, ergo doleo
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