What vile gangrene spreads through your soul,
which makes you determine to drink your fill
of illicit and sinister thoughts?
The impish grin, with rotting teeth
does nothing to hide your seditious intent.
Delicate flowers hang limp in the trees,
and you gaze up at them, your wind chimes fair.
You listen to their creaking song,
as you finger their fragrant, swaying stems.
Who made them yours to dry, to keep?
What whispers aroused your diseased mind,
which brought you to this place?
which makes you determine to drink your fill
of illicit and sinister thoughts?
The impish grin, with rotting teeth
does nothing to hide your seditious intent.
Delicate flowers hang limp in the trees,
and you gaze up at them, your wind chimes fair.
You listen to their creaking song,
as you finger their fragrant, swaying stems.
Who made them yours to dry, to keep?
What whispers aroused your diseased mind,
which brought you to this place?
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