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some are born great,

some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em

darkness at the break of noon
shadows even the silver spoon
the handmade blade, the child’s balloon
eclipses both the sun and moon
to understand you know too soon
there is no sense in trying.

pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
suicide remarks are torn
from the fool’s gold mouthpiece
the hollow horn plays wasted words
proves to warn
that he not busy being born
is busy dying.

temptation’s page flies out the door
you follow, find yourself at war
watch waterfalls of pity roar
you feel to moan but unlike before
you discover
that you’d just be
one more person crying.

so don’t fear if you hear
a foreign sound to your ear
it’s alright, ma, i’m only sighing.

as some warn victory, some downfall
private reasons great or small
can be seen in the eyes of those that call
to make all that should be killed to crawl
while others say don’t hate nothing at all
except hatred.

disillusioned words like bullets bark
as human gods aim for their mark
made everything from...

Skrivet av artie, 2007-01-23

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