Exalting the Shadow Proprietor
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Too many wasted bombs on others, too many wasted seeds of deceit
Too much contrast to boast a helpful word in this world that rewards hate with a suite
You could save them for our own mass of morons, pulsating void of ignorance
Cloaked men invited from your union, two-faced murderers on a steady boat
Too many disappearing motivators looking to pay, dissipate, discard
I run the front desk - the hall they incessantly thrive in
Hiding away not from the plagues, it's the demons, installing their pain