Whited Sepulchre: Called Salts But Galls

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    These are with no shame.
    The wrongs they do archived by name,
    Brings them sour fame.
    But never admit the lasting horror in its hoty flame.

    Rest repined,hastily gallivanting.
    Cautious of every step.
    Rest repined,rough beats you hear of the panting.
    Watchful of every step.

    Their minds a domain of evil.
    loamy soiled of the devil.
    Foresting wild in its thick,
    A jungle of flesh and blood.

    Preach them the right words.
    You Daniel? The truth in heaps.
    Speak they’re syncs of odds,
    And be locked to the Den of no leaps

    These ones,once men.
    But of change to cannibals.
    These ones, once menn.
    But of change to gallying cymbals.

    Mischieves as though a savour
    As though smells of good flavour
    As though of a samaritarian favour
    Twill soon on them loose its savour,
    And dawn on them in wraths and fury
    Like a dome fall from hell.

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