| Slugs burn cops swerve bust the mossberg
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| Big drug firms bust with bugs on they lock turns
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| Shots burn in a black hole
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| Adolescent tadpoles
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| Shattered homes metallic ropes
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| Seven carat evangelist quotes
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| Hang from mechanics for coke and blow hammers
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| Broken banisters snapped from addicts hanging from their own fabric
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| I hold the palette with coloured notes composed through a soulless ballad
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| Resonating on a ferocious planet
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| I pose for cameras with ex-felons using hands as weapons
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| Tattered emblems pictures
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| Their flesh is a street canvas for scriptures
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| Crucifixes cover bullet wounds where loose clips hit
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| He told me every war lies within a weightless tear
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| Pictures on his room of an ancient spear
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| Blowing haze thinking of escaping here
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| He made me think about the legacy left
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| In lost African soils from the adversaries of death
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| From the slums of ///////// kids with guns spray with accurate aim
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| Paralysed within the bowel of hate
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| Child trafficking victims used as blueprints for elusive systems
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| There’s truth in wisdom
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| Brothers refuse to speak
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| Still claiming they repute with peace
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| Pollute the streets bombs tear flesh pigment
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| Where corporates invest millions
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| With no-one to protest the killings
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| Souls alleviate from the vessels of feelings
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| Celestial beginnings arranged in cycles
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| Which just percolates on wisdom’s wave tidal
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| In the shadows of slave tribals
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| Skyscraper night views of estate lights flicker like constellation gate lines
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| where shapes bind
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| Beneath the bathed shaded sky
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| I watched a teenage die from a blade shaped with a wood grain vine
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| Son of a Sheikh who prayed eight times
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| Saw landscapes with sand caves where Allah’s carriage awaits
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| To take us from this vast Vatican state
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| A marked pattern in space
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| The last chapter of God’s rapture relates
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| Like a collage captured on my page
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| Ink patches of six raps from a brick stack flipped on a split axis
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| The strip’s a vicious magnet shots lick off lit lab sticks from gang hits six
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| hit Dan in his gland pit
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| His hands sit horizontal like Sanskrit
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| With rooms tailored from the fresh holes of hell’s vanquish |