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To pick up living cadavers that make cadences of deep snore.
They’d smile at the crimson coloured caffeine
dripping from the dark side of the Missouri, the Nile and the Niger.
When these zombies get high on rye,
Even dracula shall lose the last instinct to suck
And Martians would descend through the degenerated ozone
To attack the white vanguards on these black streets
from their vantage points.
Till then, love sings a dirge
But let Peace be a spectator.
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