…The Lid Is On!

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Admitting I’m no prophet, or that brilliance isn’t mine, I have few facts, and I’m re-miss in knowledge I should find. Smarter motes then me abound, as thick as fleas or flies, and battles with their *phacts* could leave me hammered in your eyes.
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But then they make assumptions so their *blacks* and *whites* make sense. Their arguments get heavy—much encumbered and entrenched. Too, loath to leave the prominence that has framed their “reputation,” these make prevarication or a senseless refutation!
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Then we have them where I’ve found them, and we see their posits smell. These stumble in their pitch black room—refuse that they’re unwell… …Refusing that they won’t know more, or shake their fists at God, these stand at last, complete—revealed! The undisputed knob.

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