-The Revolution-

It’s a crying shame when your choice of game is never-ending fame for the victor. Fires ablaze over the valleys you raze for those quiet days you wish to devour,With your designed rhymes in space and time; yet they float like the faceless dictator you are. If man can’t speak his mind without being branded a Martyr; I will take a stand, take his hand, and raise it for the future to follow.

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