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West
The whole forbidden word is West.
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The world idles with its costumes and allusions to you,
You wait to be overrun by them.
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The day cannot come when you are not perfect.
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You are a recluse.
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Allure and opposition.
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When selfish feet march its plains, its hills, mountains,
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It unapologizes
then it ends.
There is so little left. Sin it away.
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Usurped so the mountain could scorn at us below.
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For the smell of gunpowder in the air,
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For the guilty blood between Ironhorse’s floorboards.
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Take it if you will.
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Something is in your way.
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