You mould inside my mind.
Your cries are heard on high;
severed head held aloft;
immolation is nigh.
Your grip is fierce—your voice, soft—
and I: beheld by your blazing eyes.
Pins of fire, pins of lies—
your heady words liquer to be quaff'd.
You tell me lies, you come from the skies;
truth is broken and all hope dies.
You feed me lies, you descend from the skies—
to take our children, our love, our lives.
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