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one lonely, desperate pencil mark
on a sheet of processed, printed bark
is the only voice they say we possess
to deal with all this morbid mess

a grant of ultimate, unilateral might
for the corrupt to plunder everything in sight
and once our mark is finally made
the funeral banquet table’s laid

and though the meal’s a bitter pill
we will eat until we’ve had our fill
and filled indeed we’ll surely be
for we are on the menu, you see

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