My
dress is white
Though
they might say it was black
I am not understood where
My sackcloth is brushed
with ashes
Where
so naked am I
I’m
floored lain flat on my face
In
my own dust
The
sun has burned me black
And
they who I thought
Would
be my friends
Are
angry with me
For
the truth I wrote they hated me
It
went against them
*
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