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The idiot stands and tries to run.

From me, the king of times to come.

She fakes a smile, and turns to say.

My dreams will live in life some day.


The idiot plans, she feigns slight hope.

Then plummets down reality slope.

It’s sad to think of idiot’s head,

smashed on a rock, and thankfully, dead.


So idiot sprawled on dirt to die.

Actually thought, actually tried.

To change her heart from meaty waste.

To worthwhile tender, ripe to taste.



And idiots even when they’re dead.

Are worthless, filthy, useless, mess.

Breathe softly, so as not to wake it.

God will pass the choice to save it.



Sleep safely children loved by mother.

Parents hold them safe to slumber.

Your hearts are strong, and wealth, abundant.

And no more idiots in the cupboard

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