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sing us a song

dance us a jig

the song of the masses

the squeal of a pig

that together we may party

under the midnight sun

to imagine the good

that we say we have done

to comfort our own hearts

with crimes in sweet rhyme

the lies of the poets

in justification of our time


darkness can be no friend or delight

it hides only the arrow that flies by night

and light is even a darker foe

bringing only clarity of the darkness which we say we don’t know

exposing the folly of the race that we run

the path we stumble in vain search of more sun


it is not righteousness that the oppressed demand

but a chance to also oppress at their own will and command

so bad is good, and good is bad

an anthem of folly

the song of the mad



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