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Date Posted: 07:58:14 11/09/01 Fri
Author: GhostDog
Subject: Byolin Byor

Fighting mad, the Irish in me foams like fossil fuel
I'm ready to make war against you (if you only knew)
I want to pack my things and leave, see you rot in hell
See you writhe in lonely pain, a solitary cell.
I've never thought this way of you, never felt this mean
Never wanted pain for you or any awful thing.

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