I didn't ask that you be born into my world.
But for the lively spit and frying pan of the latest
spin, we'd have dropped you in the oubliette.
Now you are the lesser sin on a trek of forgetting.
Chevied unto your breast, I looked behind in fear,
hounds and torches phasing thru at the time door.
They carry fetters and impeachment writs and
would hunt, condemn across the generations.
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He'll take anything on, I tell you.
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