"More of those Fools Fall"

Right here in the sadness and lull of life,

I’ve often wondered if people killing,

Seem as volatile as their cold, glass knives,

As tepid as their victims’ blood spilling,

Their own mind, in themselves, churning quickly,

Cogs and wheels of insanity facing,

Death in its prime and splendor, so sickly

How the death toll stole still sediments, I

Have yet to see the rays of willingness,

And have yet to see their tragedies lie,

Yet to feel the zero chill, chilling us,

Of what blood speaks for the fate of us all,

Or how steadily, more of those fools fall.

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