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Enlightenment
I am from the painted walls
Whose sheens do chip with hate,
And I am from a people who arrive at love too late;
The tintinnabulation of our desecratoin swells
Until our ears, stained red with blood, are ringing like the bells.
A picture's worth a thousand words
A whisper's worth a few,
But whispers gone a thousandfold
Can make great fictions true
Aaaaaaaand this description is officially too long.