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(20 minute poetry) This day, what day? Monday that day! On my way, the pilgrimage to work, It is a sacrifice which I make five days a week and two days shall I rest one more than God, quite odd considering we think that he knew best or am I mistaken? If the proof is in the pudding 'let them eat cake' we need no validation for this is occupation an occupation, the formulation of a man. I wear my armour like a decongestant, am I not a contestant sitting out the race? spitting in the face of evolution. and who cares who wins anyway? (Wrote this on the way to work and promptly forgot I had) Doh.
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Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
On a cold and frosty morning
(20 minute poetry) This day, what day? Monday that day! On my way, the pilgrimage to work, It is a sacrifice which I make five days a week and two days shall I rest one more than God, quite odd considering we think that he knew best or am I mistaken? If the proof is in the pudding 'let them eat cake' we need no validation for this is occupation an occupation, the formulation of a man. I wear my armour like a decongestant, am I not a contestant sitting out the race? spitting in the face of evolution. and who cares who wins anyway? (Wrote this on the way to work and promptly forgot I had) Doh.
john-edward-smallshaw
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Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
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