I did all the sordid deeds,
Allured by the weeds
Of sin I sought
In my land of drought.
What Glittered in this world;
I thought of all as gold.
In lust, dreams I planted
And in impurities I enchanted.
Nothing did I harvest
As I was a malignant pest
Flown are the pool of remorse
As a ransom over the pot of curse
I wished to be a good seed
But my barren mind is dead.
Weeds
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