The turning tides
a new day guides
a whole generation
a wheel that’s lost
the sharpness of teeth
it’s oil became tar
the sound of a boar
the sound of war
when the bombs
tumble
from the stairs
secret affairs
and love for sale
in bricks
of coal your soul
while lack of iron
morals’ irony
or mortals
forged to late;
hear them fight
them crickets
of day-light.
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Decadence
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