I’ve gone blind, from your sunspots and your nuclear waves of life. I warn out my life until it fell at my feet to frail to move on. My shoes their souls are warn to their thinnest point of decay. Like my spirit it can’t move forward with out your super nova events of our afterlife. We become the Angels of anarchy, unlike our fellow brothers the stares. Yet we are made up from the same stuff,  and share the same creator.

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