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Vultures

de South Of Salem

She is the fear of th future.
Rising out from the womb,
A black, looming figure.

The white, bloody sheets.
Her eyes, gripped with terror.

Our fate is so uncertain,
But still we bear the offspring.
How shall I face the future
In a world of hate and disease?

The blood inside is pure,
Sheltered by the womb,
Birth is stained with blood
That is no longer pure.

She is the fear of th future.
Rising out from the womb,
A black, looming figure.

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