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Fallen Leader The intoxication of guilt is laid Upon the headstone of the lost guide Who dreams the dream of disillusion Forever missing to the weary of hope In a swallow, the syrup is gone We cry the cry of battle fatigue Waiting for one more word Waiting for one last ritual One more step One more seed Diversity’s quest for growth Becomes smothered By the choking roots of adaptability Leaving little room for nonsense As though it never existed Through the worm ridden dirt The guide still holds the staff Its subdued flame turns to smoke Leaving residue upon the seeds Leading to its coffin |
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