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Truth

by Ernest A Miller

There will always be soulful churning

Shallow oceans swirling over white sands

Hollow bass thumping thru every heart pumping,

A calling none in the same

To stop the killings all should be willing

But to everyone, everything is a game

A wicked game everyday is played, quarters, innings, halfs, periods..

You catch my drift?

As rivers of blood spill across the deserts, the jungles, and glade

Mothers sons stolen

So the calf remains golden

It will remain so until money can't be made while slave kills slave

06/24/2010

Author's Note: Hopefully this helps some.

Posted on 06/29/2010
Copyright © 2022 Ernest A Miller

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