mytake

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Warm hands drip with crimison sorrows. These are not hands of murders But protectors Of land they had rightfully earned To live with, not on. From which to borrow, not take.
Moving and moving on a fast paced highway my parents chattering in native tongue And I am in the seats subsequent, reliant on both for a future but this I could not have known
You're blind but you see ever so clearly, you're ill but in ways you're perfectly fine. You're deaf, but you hear so close, so nearly. You're warm but send me shivers down my spine.
  Amber skies warn of a coming Tribal drums sound with a drumming The fox has finally won with a cunning
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