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A Toast

Rating: 2.8

Not your martyrs anointed of heaven -
The ages are red where they trod -
But the Hunted - the world's bitter leaven -
Who smote at your imbecile God -

A being to pander and fawn to,
To propitiate, flatter and dread
As a thing that your souls are in pawn to,
A Dealer who traffics the dead;

A Trader with greed never sated,
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7/19/2021 11:45:00 AM # 1.0.0.663