To Kill a Mockingbird

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What is freedom? Is it the brainchild of purpose? The essence of existence A false reality made by unfathomable content Freedom squirms in the antagonized grasp,
Just sad that it can come to this A beautiful nation, a beautiful person Torn apart, arguing within Over the color of their skin Separating based on looks
Left every move uncertain Eerie malevolent phantom no proper contact of Touch There was no Howl nor sound people said he Existed Dear voice of Every child -
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