These things,
these rumors
they are like love
potent and temporary.
Just guilty, justice is like
an alcoholic's hopes
mixed in aged whine.
Never to be drank.
Never to be questioned.
Aged or saved?
No.
Devastaded, unacheivable.
They're sentenced
to waste time.
You didn't choose this.
Right?
Tell me how it was drank?
Yet still unquestioned?
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