Old English
farmer s tan
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Thereâs a word in your cheek
Carved and red, soaked and sleek
As your heart beats through your sleeve
I can see whatâs made for me
Iâve been wasting
Earth and pavement
Iâve been chasing
Birthstone pagan
Thereâs a line in the sand
Of idle threats, idle hands
Where you fall, where you land
Hunting knife, farmerâs tan
Thereâs a scar, shallow stitch
Burn the dead, eat the rich
Under lights, crystal-tipped
Nametag on a crucifix
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