One, two, three, four....five, six, seven, eight, nine, tenA Poem by SorenThree maybe four for a woman that wouldn't open her car door Then ten, a corpse that won't comply so shoot him again Men in armor, guns at side, won't show evidence, masked, got nothing to hide Law or execution, all the same, imune from prosecution, cold as their name
© 2026 SorenAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on January 27, 2026 Last Updated on January 27, 2026 |

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