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Feb 2017
People are walking down the street,
during the final apocalypse ,
radios on their big feet,
the jails are empty and all stripped,
and Micheal Moore might call it,
republicans old warship.
It's all our fault we built a world on ideas of ownership.

As the world sat there dying,
the remorseful dragon was bled,
and the leaches are all crying,
their brothers are all dead,
and I know though my silver spoon shines,
in the moonlight it turns to lead,
I sat there on the mountaintop and watched tom thumb break his leg.

The popular trend is collapsing,
the pirates are heroes too,
the tree now is alive and clapping,
what were once lies are now all true,
but ages pass and still we know ,
that every day is just a clue,
I ran across the border along with Napoleons entire crew.

The glass coffin it has a leak,
snow white is looking for love,
but all that people want is a peak,
and all she gets is mud,
behind her sunken eyes we can see,
a dam that will soon flood,
she kept it hidden long enough to water every shrub.

Everyone you knew has been abandoned,
They didn't last long on their own,
the prizes they always branded,
are gone its like they never were owned,
and even when the memory returns,
they'll just be a name on a stone.
And the people worth more than others are now just dirt and dirt alone.

Gandhi was walking his rat,
and he handed him a flower,
he said there you go Mr. diplomat,
but don't get drunk with the power,
and even with all of the things he yelled ,
the rat jumped off of the tower.
And we are now left to determine what to do in our last hour.

The ****** was again, alone,
with the memories of his father,
who was famous for many different tones,
he played while on his swather,
and he knows deep down he killed his pa,
there no excuse for hes a doctor,
and know he has to be punished so he kidnapped his own toddler.

The sideshows are all empty,
the freaks have all gone home,
the first to die are the the yetis,
the first to live are made from foam,
we remember this but forget the rest,
if we must we will build catacombs,
but be careful if you don't comply with them they'll take you up into their domes.
Scott Hamsun
Written by
Scott Hamsun  West of the Ocean
(West of the Ocean)   
195
   K M M
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