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He sits
Fingers tap tapping
He breaths
Lips in a twisted grin
He contemplates
The distruction of their sanity
The control of which he has been given unfailingly
For night and day
He sits
His lips sip sipping
He swallows
The coffee burns his throat
It is his personal penance
For what he knows he will do
The destruction of a soul
Is difficult work indeed
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