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Shrine.
Rags and riches,
Hiding behind the shrine
designed to shade the dirt
Your curse.
You do not wear a blindfold
for your eyes have no need
You're covered by self-satisfaction
By what you believe.
Truths and lies,
There are none, just empty eyes
Not to care, not to share
To pry.
No house of yours will shatter,
Not made of glass
Not made of straw
Not made at all.
