Black Poetry : Destruction of mental play Da underworld arrives

HODEE

Alonewolf
PREMIUM MEMBER
Jul 2, 2003
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While I give out the treats
I sit with my hand on the grip, Of my weapon

This night has turned into dark
Strangers knocking at your door
The only night you gladly open a sore


I know some dread this night yearly
For it reminds of the fiery
I will be glad when it over
It should be outlawed and done away quick





One's no face u can't trace


and his beings u can't place
only his darkness in ya face
a destructional nasty taste



He's deeper then any unknown
 

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