A man with a wise-cracking attitude
A high-wired salute to the whole damn system, these dry eyes have been crying of late
A fate no longer left on ice if only for awhile
He will need to suit on up, shoot from the harrowing hip – these muscular instruments will lean on over then sumptuously sip from the cup of distaste
He hates to breathe minus out and out clarity yet, nonetheless, he absolutely will
Hateful and holding all of it in, a separate instrument entirely to implement whilst all along distilling these rather compulsory things
He is otherworldly, discerningly so, and the time to bleed has been oh so terrifically earned

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