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cold-eyed (Remove filter)

The Conscience You Never Had

That inner limb was lacking

A sense of right and wrong

Like a pane without glass

A melody without a song

 

You possessed virtues of sorts,

Were, not by any means, all bad,

Yet I remember you only for

The conscience you never had

 

Fissures materialised where

The inner self was displayed

Skeletons in your cupboard

Facade aside, were betrayed

 

Good times...

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