Smokey vines twist in the sky,
Like vines trying to reach heaven. The stench lingers on the ground everywhere , eyes cry, ears bleed. Tongues cleave, sockets shrivel. Stacks of dead rot Back to the earth at least Forever recycled. Make more, Make more, More smoke, More ashes, More tears. The war to be In the valley- Here I am merry You gotta love this guy; Hail him high. Vines twist above us; above Power fists
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