There is something there.
The smell of rain.
The hint of a torrent to come.
It will be a strike-
-for wrongs past done.
Words they caused the pain.
It was hate that cause the billows form
In their heart the clouds will roll,
Till they rage hate for every man,
And then the storm will darken sky
To finish the fight, the hated began
Flash down it's fateful toll.
Death is deemed the price,
For past wrongs they hardly knew
And yet this storm the hateful likes,
It, this revenge, will never suffice.
The next victim will just be you.
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