Strays of rays, and cats, and dogs.
From a far, the fog, the dirt collage.
Into, too, deep, we rise and fall.
For short of God, the Elohim then loves.
Pacts galore, their bodies a float of shore.
The floor is packed, the angels sore.
Now you know what you must do.
Divide and conqueror, 2-2.
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