there are traitors in the streets of berlinA Poem by winter;lyra
from a king whose crime none is willing
to put a dime in tightly sat on your trust you should be for no loose sin slips through the grip of a devil whose means are but selective you're as guilty as the next you endorse and as weak as the link you enclose because alike the worldly there's no kin but identic burnt flesh at the hell chambers © 2019 winter;lyra |
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Added on February 24, 2019 Last Updated on February 24, 2019 Author
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