Bizarre Writing Prompt #4

In a water full of glass there is a taste of lime and soot. Do you breathe the cane, feel the unfelt? What conifers of miscarried justice do the malign tout upon rafters of sense and sensibility? Is there a way to out the Thatchers of yesternow? Does true change ride on the wings of immediacy, burnt from guns and fiery mouths like muzzles, or does it rise like water, a flood of ten thousand years that subsumes whole cities once familiar with the ice? This is your task. Put into words the oversight of nightwatchmen and set fire to the sacred rhythms within your brain.

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