It came, in an apparition clear,
Or perhaps in a breach of observed trust,
The motive melancholy, so sincere
But still I feel it so unjust.
From far away, it may appear,
Glimmering with wealth and worth robust,
But dare to get closer, the notion austere,
And all you shall see is distorted dust.
And how can such prosperous pretense shed a tear,
When your eyes are drawn to it's waters of lust,
Everything saturates into a veneer,
As the flood within begins to rust.
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