| Wond’ring aloud
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| how we feel today.
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| Last night sipped the sunset
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| my hands in her hair.
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| We are our own saviours
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| as we start both our hearts beating life
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| into each other.
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| Wond’ring aloud
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| will the years treat us well?
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| As she floats in the kitchen,
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| I’m tasting the smell (yes)
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| of toast as the butter runs.
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| Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
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| and I shake my head.
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| There’s the stillness of death on a deathly unliving sea,
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| and the motor car magical world long since ceased to be,
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| when the Eve-bitten apple returned to destroy the tree.
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| Incestuous ancestry’s charabanc ride,
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| spawning new millions throws the world on its side.
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| Supporting their far-flung illusion, the national curse,
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| and those with no sandwiches please get off the bus.
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| The excrement bubbles,
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| the century’s slime decays
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| and the brainwashing government lackeys
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| would have us say
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| it’s under control and we’ll soon be on our way
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| to a grand year for babies and quiz panel games
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| of the hot hungry millions you’ll be sure to remain.
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| The natural resources are dwindling and no one grows old,
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| and those with no homes to go to, please dig yourself holes.
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| We wandered through quiet lands, felt the first breath of snow.
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| Searched for the last pigeon, slate grey I’ve been told.
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| Stumbled on a daffodil which she crushed in the rush, heard it sigh,
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| and left it to die.
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| At once felt remorse and were touched by the loss of our own,
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| held its poor broken head in her hands,
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| dropped soft tears in the snow,
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| and it’s only the taking that makes you what you are.
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| Wond’ring aloud will a son one day be born
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| to share in our infancy
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| in the child’s path we’ve worn.
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| In the aging seclusion of this earth that our birth did surprise
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| we’ll open his eyes. |