The self-decline bastion of human rights, rises above,
But gravity makes angels fall,
They chased Lilith out of pardes
Arguments for killing of one another’s kin,
She here white money whispering about a could, dead and flemming goal
In the end we might be hurte
and after hurte there is healing
Red shines from the sorrow of oppression
She sharpen care and connection as a weapon
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