Muddled and murky
My words.
The fog can press down a defense,
But the breeze always blows on you.
Your dagger in my back
Came first.
Then my fist
Caught your cold shoulder.
Your tears brought the judge, and just as your
Wit wins allies, your
Crisply-crafted stories
Win the battles,
Win you innocence, even
Win you favor.
Yes, you win their listening ears.
But all my sentences win me...
Is a sentence.
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