Pain pills steady diet them
Steady aim, dash your diadem
Got ten bullets and I fire them
Ten marks dead, I’m William Tell
I fall into bed with fresh widows.
Your wake is tomorrow
I’m awake this minute
Fisting away depression in your missus
Downstairs in dove linen and cerecloth
The man you were, mass now you are: tack, chew, bit, cork
Hewn of form when flamed outspanning paces measureless.
Alchemisland 
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