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No Hope for Disclosure.

Blazing fires of truth dim
in retrospect. Even so, in time, burn
victims heal, their wounds scar,

they leave a mark 
yet never betray the depths
they cover-up,
considering it their birthright

as they pass the torch
when the clock strikes midnight
to the next generation
inheriting their red hands

stained as they painted
themselves and their progeny
into a corner.

Restricted.
Classified.
Code word.
Compartmentalized.

Red hands, red tape.
In the black,
so many hells there to unleash…

yeah.

Don’t hold
your breath, man.
No hopes
here for disclosure.

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