Growing up; A Hostage with a beheaded surname. Prodded at gunpoint. Not a legitimate plan; Single again for which nest to perch. A pistol lay charitably in limbo. My right hand is cocked back, with a Midas Touch. There will be no bounty for cooking its meal off of my bones. I will unlawfully take into my custody any name. I will write in awe of my own humor. I will pay the bills of my enemy. No Crest am I, but this illegitimate puss is sagging, and the Person that I must be...A Con Artist pacifying none.
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