It's all happening now, it's taking form. The four horsemen are ready for war. Burning so deeply, it's eager to please. Until that moment of weakness: There's no pleading. No ease.
Too little, too late. Dear bitter-sweet.
I adore it.
I loathe it.
So fertile.
So faint.
It's the offering to your god. The extortion of innocents. Only stronger it grows I'm the complicity to the sin.
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