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The simplicity of life seems too complicated for fools.
You were a sentimental mercenary in a free-fire zone,
Parading a Hollywood conscience;
You were a fashionable objector with a uniform fetish,
Pavlovian slaver at the cash till ring of success.
A noncom observer, I assassin, the collector... defector.
So you resigned yourself to failure, my friend,
And I emerged the chilling stranger, my friend,
To eradicate the problem, my friend,
Unsheath the blade within the voice,
within the voice, within the voice,
within the voice.
And what do you call assassins who accuse assassins, anyway...
My friend?
Member Since: | May 18, 2013 |
Last Login: | May 31, 2013 |
Times Viewed: | 1,086 |
Times Rated: | 107 |
Rating: | 9.352 |
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