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The high commanded march – a fearful sight!
His patriotic youth with soiled salute
And twisted fortune’s wheel – Blood, Pure, and Night –
The self consuming drakes beneath jackboot.
If martial history be retro-wound
‘Til fated fathers fought ‘gainst tyranny,
Their freely brazen words were firstly sound,
Until they bound men by those branches three.
Yet,  frankly from a once tornadoed land,
Those sighted-short for peace and war ready
Acutely, funny munchkins – Arms at hand
Would fight for what the goddesses decree.
All colored forms of state inspired discourse
Are only shades of monochromal force.

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