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it's raining pure blood the blood of children. All the fear built up in me it boils and burns. I'm one of those children some of that blood is mine. Why was I tortured so? Why is it my blood? Why do the children live in such misery? The fear of waking up, waking up knowing it's just another day, a day of torture? Why can't we only for once wake up not having to worry what pain will, will engulf us? The Fear's ego pride. I'm one of those children, and I cry! Copyright (c) 1995 Morticia
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