
Bleak eyed pockmarked and grey, all grey,
Boldness is not plucked from inside of a shell,
Warm, soft and plush delicately poised at the ready,
The dialogue read not a verse in its finality,
Bleat, in concession to the figure with a scythe,
The gaze, a desert of a timeless sea born despite the doubt,
All this, to be lead to the thievery and nakedness of the body,
Born from which we came, a cry into the night,
Bleat, the chorus sings hallelujah for the offering.
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