Tongue on Fire, wings of Freedom. Poets,
here are your tools, Hurry, take them away
before they are Revoked and you're Quoted
off key. Listen, this is the AullolluA
Ear, it's an Imperfect Pitch that Rhythm's
made For, the EveryyrevE Day Note
of our Humanity. Yes, there are Schisms
galore, they hunt near the Forests of Rote
Melody--a Trifling peDantic, you
ask me. I have spoken this much on Themes
of Fanatical lacitanaF fo.
My saliva inspires and with it, Flames
can be Tended with Metallurgic Words,
forged from the Cinders of Infernal Bards.
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