Are any of your punches aimed?
At the reasons or provocateur
Do you care about where protagonist lays?
Does your story end with blunt swords?

Anyone care to throw a stone?
Or are all your faithful limbs tied?
Will he put a tack on your throne?
Who’s to call you wise?

How do you expect me to react
When you beat the ones I love?
You flake around and tell me to retreat
Downhill in hiking boots, a harsh trudge

A common communist lays a belt
Tied around an arm
Sear the wounds and the way he felt
Provocateur throws no palms

Eyes see all but truth
Feel with talons, turned to noose
Listen for screams, is it laughter or cries?
Provocateur does wonders for the evolution of sighs

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