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 Grandeur Of Melancholy

Bethroned The Crowd

There is a day to come.

ordinary, as a homebody.

And it demands too many

Asks to act upon itself,
frail and figures,
on razor thin ice,

all will fall in.
None saved.

what is missing
some sanity.

As casual as it is...
but you are a flock
of fools gathered
together to make
tools; that will work.

You are a peon,
looking after aeon,
the suffering of 
all of us; just from
a unnatural conclussion.

Family is 
dead, when
do they come
back from the fray.
How did 
the gravity of the crowd
become a crown
that won't fit?

It will never work out.

How much more?
Until the chains
break, and you
are finally free?

A jewel you are unworthy to wear,
that is how we get to unequality.
And how we deserve it; because
we are murderers by trade.

Wear that bloody thing well.
I am unworthy of such a grave thing.
A burden, you are not allowed to hold.
We are gathered, masses, devulge
of meaning.

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