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I walk round and round on a cross
I turn in cross I make circles
Politically incorrect is a fact
Way of anarchy thought is a misdeed
We are all idiots
My quest is to find the king

I wanted to have projects but too boring
I wanted to be happy but too grisly
Grisly because I killed the happiness
He was late necessarily not at the hour
The head cut with my metaphoric cuts down
Inconsistency without happiness I am not unfortunate

I walk in this cross, insane person's reality
Master of squalid one extremely beautiful, goodbye the world
Found king, it I which scattered them all
Immense enjoyment in these immortalized ignominies
Reality applied by this fertile imagination
It is my asylum literally as in the figurative

Thèmes

Image de Poèmes
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