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I Kill Thee Romeo
The light is a colurful way to show pain.
Beautiful and soft, full of hurt none the less.
Tis days like colure that passion blooms as death.
And morbidness that blossoms into a rose of blood.
Roses are red violits are bleu,
sugar is sweet and so arn’t you.
But the violits are witted the roses are dead,
and the sugar is blown by the wind.
I have been blessed with a gift, which I shall indeed share upon this earth.
That love and true loves kiss are ever of ebbony.
Strong as a waves disire to crash against the harmless shore.
Tis love and ...