At_Last

But starve them of their fiendish meals Disenchanting spells they wield? With only feeble hope of spark I kept on into dark A darkness lit Of burning eyes Searing city streets, Of cries Reprised, As British troops, By all, despised, Stood by and smiled Wickedly, "Where's your sticky, hey?" Then beat our flailing flesh away. Rapacious royal Lupis Packed to chaperon this feast Glutted on our innocence With their brother beasts. Spoilers, we, of total route If forced be their meal We must also be their gout. Tired of this tainted spread They carved a peace Slave masters feign. A peace of barricades, Of dread Of hate Of servitude and chains. And who retorts in all this toil Armed encampments on our soil Daily muzzles to our heads Snatch squads at our beds?

Guess.

So it goes

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