,,,,>— 2

Under the burning suns

We toil for our bread & booze

Stinking up the place in silent and covert protest

Of the world’s violence

For the ears of absent god

Filling our cups with tears

& transmuting them

A protest unrecognized

By a world too dumb to right itself

The rest do not recognize or understand

We slog on until we find the strength

To oppose the world

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

phrases i have come across various places take up residence in the mind

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