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Into murderous
rage flew three;
Fanned by hate,
fueled by desire;
Pushed into
hasty passion dangerously;
More foul than
harm to perspire;
To end a night
of folly.
The rage within
does grow;
Forth it comes,
with force and power;
With intent to
do most serious harm;
Naught to be
found, the fire doth calm;
But the embers
still burn bright.
Clear thoughts
that scorch the sun;
Hot with rage,
vile, ambitious lust for blood;
It is from
ourselves we must run;
Manhood is the
reason for falsehoods;
So to our
deaths, insanity, or fun.
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