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Sep 2018
Black binders beside the linac, speak of those most ill
A daily transit I do make, and passing by, a look I take

There’s Mrs. Smith and Mr. Brad
My childhood friend’s Mom and Dad

Each will have their turn in the beam
In desperate hopes to be redeemed

And who'll be next on the cancer roll-call?
******* it, ******* it, seems like us all
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