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 Grandeur Of Melancholy

Bethroned The Crowd

There is a day to come.

As
ordinary, as a homebody.

And it demands too many
things.

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

all will fall in.
None saved.

Present;reality 
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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