| My love
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| The king by any other name a pissoir
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| You, my love tower over them all
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| They are but vermin beneath your heels
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| They are monkeys
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| Suit them, frame them to your own vision
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| But do not let one false word
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| Of mockery seep through to your vast heart
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| I have seen you from close and afar and your worth
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| Far exceeds your height, your width
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| The depth of your sorrow
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| Oh willful outcast doth thou not see the light of our love
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| Our linked fortunes
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| Our hearts melded together
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| Into one fine golden braided finery
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| They listen to the music of idiots and amuse themselves
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| With the sordid Miseries of their businesses
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| They are not the things of angels
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| Nor of any higher outpost that humanity might aspire to
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| Your loathsome vomitous
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| Businessman king is of the lowest order
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| His advisors
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| Crumbling mockeries of education driven by avarice
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| My love
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| Dress them in the suits of mockery
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| And in their advanced state of stupidity
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| And senility
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| Burn and destroy them so their ashes might join the compost
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| Which they so much deserve
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| If justice on this earth be fleeting
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| Let us for once hear the weeping
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| And the braying of the businessman king
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| Let them be the the orangutans they are
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| And set them blazing from the chandelier for all to see
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| Hanging from the ceiling by their ridiculous chains
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| And petticoats which you will have them wear
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| Under the guise of costumic buffoonery
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| He who underestimates
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| In time is bound to find the truth sublime
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| And hollow lie upon the grates of systemic disorder
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| Businessmen
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| You’re not worth shitting on |