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Halt your spans: I have stories to tell

I invite you to the regalement of Hell

There are senseless murders and tales of rape

And people there to catch the fold on tape

Safe indoors no more for the “out” is coming in

Nothing to alleviate and the mayhem will begin

Far are we from the Holy garden to a torrid world of pain

No good fathomed from the farthest terrain

I hail from a box made of plastic and electric coil

To tell endless stories of bedlam and turmoil

In a world wrought with torment, my work is not complete

When a husband murders his wife, again we shall meet

The End

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