The
scraping on the walls
The
lines so clearly cut in the open
In
the day light or moon lit night
Nobody
can miss it
It
is only the blind people
Who
can't see the day or night
Though
they pass the walls every day
They
don't see a thing
Unless
they touch the scraping walls
They
will find the hooves by their touches
Only
then they will realize the events gone by
The
bad intentions of the bad hats roaming
In
the area of quiet and free
Some
just can't let it stay
They
will try to make it bad
The
behaviour patterns sink of evil minds
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