Useless compass always pointing inwards,
What direction can arrogance go
If the magnetic pull is the bones
Of this prick that sits here in
A built up lined paper ego.
Oh the lilies, those fucking lilies,
They do so much of nothing yet
Return with a triumph that beats
This god complex into the stone that
Has never moved despite perceived strength.
And you my love
As such wet soil
Spurring and spinning
With such thick weeds.
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