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The weeping tree And Flying bee's
Sting its contentful death And when the pain
Steals the shame Of the life that the red bump left
Ill read the strum And beat the drum
And eat the fruit of labor She cries awake
To dance and play To hit the cursed favor
Shockwaves splash colors into shell storms Vibrant florescent sunships
Chunks of brown fall back Dirt filled bottom
God on his dishwashing machine Beam light on spades of black
Scream to the festivals of mold And change the face of their hearts