Ode to Lana Del Rey

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Throne of skulls pins the star spangled banner down.
Faded, patched up, it shivers. And maggots crawl between the bones.
The melody of guns and death hangs like a backdrop to the scene.

She sits on the throne, trailing her hand across the carnage. Then stands up and walks off, singing, still singing.

A songbird, soaked in blood.

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