L (11-03-1977 / )

Grippe

I shall clutch
The wicked congregations
With a strangling grippe
That shall maketh
Their ribs to be sore

And in panted breath
Shall they call
Upon the mercies of heaven
But shall they have no relief
Lest the remember the work of my son.

6-20-06

by ~~~ Leaven ~~~

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