The stitched-in torture of nightmare
The rented Witches’ Familiar
Whose beady eyes make sure
Their Lord’s work be done
To us, the chosen ones
The sweat of our spirits
Runs from our eyes and our noses
Our pleas are lost
Like screaming into the wind
What have we done?
Oh God, what have we done?
AreMyFeetOffTheGround 
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