Cursed Are the Many
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You reap your own kind of sadness in the madness of your mind.
You fail yourself in an instant in the pain of life you hide.
The blood that spills from you
Stays there on the gravestone of your soul.
The reaper's coming to take you somewhere you don't want to go.
Cursed are the many. Blessed are the few. Such a poisoned world.
The lies that eat at your conscience. No responses. No relief.
Contaminating the very thing that made you believe.