Some of the best sculptors,

Aren’t called so.

Words are their best material

And their master pieces glow.
They glow with the hatred

Embedded into their framework.

They glow with the bitterness

Enclosed in their cloak.
The cloak that shields

The real colours in their eyes.

They make themselves shine

Through the hatred and cries.
Dislike and hate don’t like to be alone,

So they pick up their words to speak.

Speaking and a new sculpture grows,

Strong enough it would never break.
But oil always thrives above water,

And so the day will come,

When sculptures are dropped,

And the lies overcome.

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