for you who saw the spectre of the spin
a comfortable icon to aspire
the stench of hopelessness breathed once too deep
turned pleasant like the scent of aging cheese

as we dueled longer it was clear
that unrecycled knowledge of the self
was far superior to foreign masks
that limit our potential for their greed

and as your lemmings swarmed upon your corpse
i wept as I would wail for fallen sons
 

you will be avenged
 

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