PHOENIX
 |
| Poem |
Let me slowly dig my own grave,
As the incense of my grass
Fills the sky,
And the fragrance of my liquor
Makes my cloth expensive,
While I head to hell.
Maybe hell will be
My pathway to paradise,
Where my pains and sorrows
Are being burnt down.
Then I rise like a phoenix,
And fly right into Zion.
BobMayor
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