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Brass Indian

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Children they feed,
teeth clenched tight,
don't let them see,
on either side,
what they can't hear,
won't hurt them no,
keep them well fed,
this one's bone dry,
bring me the next,
the promising eyes,
diminishing light of your soul.
The devil he calls,
in the industry halls,
the honest disguise,
bloated and blue,
it's time for a star,
the siblings are full,
pretty and clean,
prepare to be spilled,
stay on your knees and please them all.

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