No one knows the gamblers mind
But the squach had a heart of spite
And it was not your fault but the blind
So the squach ape held to me tight
Heads were squeezed in the grind
And we squared off into the bright
Now I'm not the red mushrooms bride
But I hold her as I await my last rites
Through fist, wild fury and the blight
I plucked the apes light from the lies
Noticeably shaken I am lost in the night
The war within released me from the guise
A witch appeared and death is in her sight
And still no victor can ever hope to rise
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