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Oct 2011
Behemoths of stone
Surround us as we huddle close
The chill whips at our backs
Our numb bodies our the only hope of warmth

Still we labor on
As they are running wholly fearful
Of the sleeping giant waking
To find a world in disrepair

They took it all away
Our electricity and heat
The drone’s of the established
Corrupted aristocracy
Robert Potter
Written by
Robert Potter
874
 
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