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Tools
Chained to this corner
To stare at the fools
By myself seems warmer
Not a slave to their tools
They offer their smiles
So cold and so black
They could see for miles
and still a heart they would lack
They all stand faceless
Subject to false lives
Their thinking is heartless
And their words just like knives
Around them I smother
My flame all but gone
Could we ever recover
Or is it I who is wrong
