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By: Chris BacaYour soul may reside where your nightmares can hide,
It might hide away under your face.
It can hitch it's long ride on the mane of a bride,
it could well even lode it's own place.
For whence it grows dark in your heart, hear the lark,
Your soul then can lose it's fine spark.
You give it all up, these sins will corrupt,
your pain is as sure as the day,
Your hatred erupts and while your heart it lacks luck,
And you for your evil shall pay.
Your soul has been struck, by the heart turned to muck,
Whilst Cain, he shall ruin the day.
I had a hard type transcribing this poem to this blog. I just thought you should know.
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