I don’t watch the news, but I obey
Traffic signals without making much fuss.
The Antarctic is breaking into pieces,
Flow away, flow away and be done.
Gangs of roving thugs are standing in line,
For a job sweeping the bank, and a frown
Of towers stand vigilantly over us, they
Watch in silence as the snow doesn’t fall.
The poor will wander through the world, asking
For nothing. They try too comfortably
Sit on hostile park benches; a soup-kitchen
Riot breaks out at the beach, our fate.
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