Dear diary, I'm forever lopsided. It's as if one side of me has gone to market, And the other side went all the way home And the rest of me is all caught in the middle Torn, divided, uncertain And somehow this is all set to the smell of roast beaf.
What kind Of country that We are all living here. Beaf fat pork oil fish oil Getting Mixed in temple gods prasdam By making sanctity Un holy, consumed By all