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P51 - Sentenced III, The OceanA brittle soup,cool, foul;stinging, slithering.Coughing, retching,swallowing more;necessarily.The sun rose over a distant ocean.
P50 - Sentenced IIDust blows inand his hopebleeds out,as he listenssilentlyfor the heavy feetthat bring his next meal.
P49 - SentencedStrips of shadowscar the surfaceof his skin,as he sitsand shiverson the cold, stone floor.
P48 - PrayerI ain't lookin'for a world lacking sin;I don't want no peaceforever.Gimme a hurdle,every day of the week;gimme a hurdlewhenever you got one.Whenever you got oneto spare.Make me hurt.Not too much,just enough so's I knowthat I'm still here.Gimme rain,just so's I can smilewhen the sun come out.Just don't let me diebored.
P47 - GlideShifting, twisting,the world spins awry,blades not catching;the heavens turn by.As one by onemy brethren fall;if simply becausewe could not skate at all.
P46 - StratocriaWe must fight to providea life for our youths,before peace comes the pain;these are the plain truths.They say 'do what you know,protect those you love';we have all lost our hopefor some heaven above.So we do what we must;we sacrifice all.We give up our livesand those of our thralls.
P45 - DewDew-drops bulgeand collect themselves,breath by breath,from a damp morning sky.Sitting,waiting.A light blossoms,golden blue,lithe and clear.Sitting,waiting.She dancesthrough fields,chasing shadowsacross valley,and ridge,laughing as they fleeinto little rabbit-holes.Sitting,waiting.And she returns,just as she promised;not too late,not forgotten,never too busy.Sitting,waiting.And she smiles,and kneels;lipsbrushing cold, emptywater-spots,on every leaf,and every blade.Sitting.With every kissa speck;a golden life,shining out.They bulge,one last time;just a little.And they roll,one by one.Crawling across the green.Heavier,just.And the edge comesand goes,and the world below pulls.A silent struggle,and they stretch.And soon they fall,bodies gently tumbling,through the ageing air.And soon,in a golden burst,of one thousand specksof warm, ageless light,they break.And begin to waitfor tomorrow.
P44 - FacistiaAnd who do we fight,who does ill us so?At whom do we aimand strike with our blows?Some 'owner' of us?some keeper of lives?Do we rebel in disgustagainst some stealer of hives?A freedom was wonin the years of our growth;and that freedom was takenfrom you and I both.