Feb 05, 2006 17:46
Blood spilt from the lips of a madman biting his tongue because the truth makes you feel alive. Hit speed bumps with thumb tacks in the seat.
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Burglars wear attire whose fabric molecular structure is conducive to stealth.
Stealth, the fashion by which I crept into your minds.
Minds, that forget the manifestations of the past in experience.
Experience, that sensation achieved when combined with learning.
Learning, in association with knowing.
I am the lettering in your scriptures.
Scriptures, you read yet disbelieve in silence.
Silence, the crescendoing chorus of voices.
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