Insipid Rebirth Cycle




Should it have died, that which now grows?

This relic of old, living again?

What will it grow, this malignant thing?

Why does it grow, against nature and will?

Intrinsic malevolence, that is assured!

As this fiend, it creeps....

Ever on a up, as above, so below!

Time is short, it's inevitably certain,

It always has, and always shall be,

Their intentions depriving, for that which they leech!

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