i am wrong or I am right

sometimes it starts like a grease fire/ little pools of pain/ sliding down and eating
other times it's creeping fear of disbelief/ the festering feeling of sober anxiety
old hums and strums coincide with tragedy and comedy
 //the only fool a man can claim is himself//
under the glow of the high-definition fire /time movin' slow (I)
don't know when it'll expire...mixing
thin tinges of not uncommon desire
into the waste = into the gyere
through the genes/drank up in rivers and streams
toleration rips at seams/all because of these abstract beings
 system is not complete without travesty

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