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Found Poetry 509
a steal? no, your lie disciple of profane with a morsel of intelligence weaver of hate thief of our sleep they threatened senators our great nation besieged scent of blood and smoke your fifteen of fame turned to darkness you threw a dart but hit your own eye cannot tear us apart not surprised you tried
This poem was created from the King James Version of the Bible (KJV/KJB). Click here to get a King James Bible.
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