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One of my 30 (repost and edited)

  • The world we live not the world I wanna be...


    You can torch the ship's, burn the land....but you will never smoke me. 


    I didn't sell my soul to the devil for anything less than thirteen fifty. 


    Never sold my spirit to the scoundrel after demoting me. 


    But he shall continue to hunt the life from me..... after counting my dollars and cents.


    My cigars cost more than my rent.... but less then my lungs and dignity.


    I'm leasing out this temporary temple as my rent blows up in smoke.


    I scrimp and save for the thirteen fifty. And the demon continues robbing me.


    Stealing hope from insanity, the scoundrel will never poach me.


    You can raid my loot, stomp, and shoot, but you will never liquidate my liquid.


    You feed off the feeble, dine on the fragile. And you think you will ever catch me?


    Well the jokes on you the sleepless, the wicked. I'm bright eyed, weak, conflicted, and twisted.


    Sold my soul to the seller at the custom(er) counter. Yet my spirit keeps running free. 


    Nothing you muddle with the fickle, the fuddle, will ever assault my visceral s..s..s..struggle.


    You can rape and grope, pillage and poke, as my spirit eternally stands free.


    Violate my temple, exploit my estate, as I emptily stare off into ceilings of space. 


    Demolish my mind, censor the cause, but you can't buy me for less than my lungs and dignity.


    Catch me if you can, try and silence my voice, but this will be my sleight of hand. 


    I scream at the moon, jive with the injured and dance along with T(t)he D(d)ead.


    And I will get by on the beat of right and wrong and I will get by, I will survive.


    And I will survive with a little help from my friends, but what would you do when I lend you my shoes? Would you stand up and tread them on me?

    Ooh and I will get by, I will survive

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