What is creativity without creation, the starving of a nation,
the crumbs they scatter, while the rich grow fatter on peas and porridge the dragonflies forage,
and the sun doesn't glisten when the glitter has no glue, and what's to chew on when you choke on a splinter, your flesh is your tender and fresher than a kitten in snow is the sting of a foe,
that part of your heart that was ripped all apart when day turned to night and love waged a fight...deeper than sin or the untrusted kin and the axeman's high swing couldn't outweigh the bling of the tears in my eyes oh wretched destiny.
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