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Empty Wroom
With passive indifference
thought I had a life-term commission
But you gave me life instead
A fashionable moment of dread
When I left the wroom
I couldn’t stand
Had too much booze
During my one-night-stand
Conceived in darkness
came from nothing and left with something
But sintered to oblivion
With the shame of pessimism
From thy furnace from which I came
Hardened by the quench of thy flame
And annealed by times persecution
Without any solution for my restitution
I still stand with wrought iron will
