You play with your value, you always bet it.
The green monster moves the need.
Push your soul into the middle of the table.
While you're rubbing your sweaty palm.
The friendship against the chief.
You spit him on face, with a smile on your face, and you bite out his eye.
Because it’s the mirror of the soul.
Forces on the shoulder, like on the balance.
Their weight push you down, or fool you into.
Trasnformed machines, programmed processes: Counting, Betting, Winning.
At the end where there’s only barrened wasteland, bet your last cooper,
standing by the table looted by.
Lay our head to rest, the hope keeps you always warm.
Think that: Shit can happen.
But there’s a wizard, who’s separated by appreciation.
Reclining upon emotions, that triggers the embarrassment.
And it causes destruction, this is the only way to survive.
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