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No sleep. No water. Dry mouth seems to be the onluy taste available. No reach or want for what is close. Only hardships are available. Thee isn't much around in this deserted place we call home.
The table stays the wood is grey a light sull yellowed tingy yellow brown when on the bench the hobo sleeps the homo weeps the political correctness steeps and for weeks and weeks
Peers and youth clatter and clank Minds nearly filled with blank Always looking so fine and swank A job and work a threat or a prank Parents diving into their savings bank