Into the database of soul's situation
In the surface of it's creation
I swear it's phase a bad confection.
But lets face it's true confabulation.
It expects everything blazing, that's cynical.
How dare it weakens fast, ooh chemical?
Soul, you've got be critical.
Something like musical
To be all time typical.
Please soul, in me act France.
To have Eiffel beauty; nice.
Always having taste, juice.
Bad as good even on dice.
With peace in force.
Till physically can't notice.
Woo that's abundance.
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