We all stand
in fresh waters
But we`re
not fresh water polyps
All else
around us is broken down country territory
Our sky is
no longer amber red
And the
age-old skyline is at half mast.
When mocks
and dares turn into tartars
And there
are no more free bloated lips
And the new
comers no longer recognize their boundary
Who then do
you think will bake our daily bread?
So, what if
our one and only chairman is left aghast?
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