For all have sin;
I have sinned.
For sinners must die;
I’m dead!
I’ve written my epistle in the way which I have chosen,
It has frighten my race to the chafe of season,
I’m lost into the oblivion of emptiness.
Death come quickly and take me by,
For I’m strong and no longer shy,
Come now! Not latter in my prime,
I’m at the foot of your fire,
Push me now, like a prey rolling to fire.
I’ve sinned, I’m attracted to distraction,
I’m gone, for I’m subjected to subtraction,
On this cacophonic drum I’ve danced delay.
Dulcet sin, succulent to taste.
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