From misunderstood motives, the same old story. Heading for an endgame (that's) self-explodetory. Fear-mongering intentions rot our brains.
The wood's cross-checked, screws in place, eyes straight forward, crowd to face. Make the justification speech without realising there's a job you can't finish; there's a hand you can't reach.
Shot yourself in the foot, there's an arm left feebly swinging, one hand already nailed up, one on the trigger.
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