The Plowman Shall Overtake the Reaper Yet Still The Heat Death Of The Universe Don’t Take Kindly to Organic Produce

We only find abdominal bliss
After we sign for the package
Left upon our crooked doorstep
By a maudlin brother grim

Our final results were sown tangentially
Once we spat brown, broken seeds
Into the cracked and wicked soil
That sat long waiting for revenge

In our distant, spacious futures
Most make love to ghostly figures
Instead, I peer toward between spaces
And sharply whisper your bright name

The Plowman Shall Overtake the Reaper Yet Still The Heat Death Of The Universe Don’t Take Kindly to Organic Produce

Sock it to me

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