You have seen the faults of all,
Granting passages of light,
Finding the life and death of a start
And compulsion, in this united world.
Keeping alert sounds goodness and me,
Forces stay, forces bite and betray;
I may be you in the compelled way,
Fortune has a wonderful level of performance.
This dying breakfast is room for the illness,
A cast-away has more joy with colourful food,
Ones to bite, morsels to imitate and omit,
Liking and loathing as the mouth subsides.
Let the Tongue do the thinking,
And it's muscular form inherits thinking,
When rulers of the old world shall presume
The innocence of the teachers of food.
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