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37 Father’s Murderer I am pricked by the thorns In this their garden of roses As I search for an iota of your nectar Snuffed off the pungent skies Where fly freedom’s wasps Feeding on all things and fleshes too Where did they hide your corpse? O, how they dance, your murderers On the tail of this lion Monkey See, Monkey Do Oh how much fun they’re having The female pigs their envy could not hide Joined the male pigs in the fray The adrenaline rushing Helter-skelter they all dove Rubbed and slugged in the mud all the way Six feet under, they are heading To be a pig, oh what a fun time – and pride The leveling of the longevity mudscape ...

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