He rules with malice.

A clenched, and wrought iron first.

An age of vengeance built up,

One shot he can’t miss.

And he raises his sword,

High up o’er his head,

And with a swift,

Throws it down,

Upon all he wished dead.

But he’s playing pretend,

There’s no sword there,

You see.

He can make choices,

He can live morally.

(Back dated 5th June 2019)

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