| With salivating psyches
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| The Seven start to swarm
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| Anticipating gluttony with
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| The coming of the storm
|
| The coming of the storm
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| If gluttony were a virtue
|
| The Seven would be saints
|
| For the glory of the valley
|
| They have come to surely taint
|
| Who is this Shirley Taint?
|
| With pail and lasso quick at hand
|
| They stalk and set to pounce
|
| While slobbering in their greed
|
| The savory tension mounts
|
| The savory tension mounts
|
| As the rainbow rises
|
| With color rich and true
|
| They gaze in wide-eyed wonder
|
| At the vibrance of each hue
|
| The vibrance of each hue
|
| Leaping forward with the cunning
|
| Of FOX on simple prey
|
| Flinging lassos in the air
|
| But the colors drop away
|
| The colors drop away
|
| Sordid lines come snapping backwards
|
| Clashing with their hopes
|
| Dumbfounded wretched writhing
|
| As they tangle in their ropes
|
| And came a mighty flood
|
| Of the colors they desired
|
| For the rainbows and the flowers
|
| Of the valley had conspired
|
| Revelations often come
|
| When struggling not to sink
|
| That when the meek unite
|
| They aren’t helpless as one may think
|
| Drowning in the colors they had come to steal
|
| The valiant persecuted served a devastating meal
|
| No one in the valley wept for them… |