Could I be the bonified spectre with sharp photographic eyes.
Blowing the ashes out of a burnt subconscience.
All dressed in criticism, constructing a respect toward a new clean world.
Gullible crowds race after schizophrenic angels.
I reach for nature with my arms and spirit.
My internal freedom.
My long hours of guard duty at the gates of honesty.
My tedious inspections at this bright new world´s quarantine.
Where dark charletons spring forth with arrogance and precocious dogmas.
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