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Rating: 2.9
Come, my songs, let us express our baser passions.
Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future.
You are very idle, my songs,
I fear you will come to a bad end.
You stand about the streets, You loiter at the corners and bus-stops,
You do next to nothing at all.

You do not even express our inner nobilitys,
You will come to a very bad end.
And I? I have gone half-cracked.
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COMMENTS
Thomas Luabu 28 November 2010
why is there no comment on this how can a poet not comment after reading this this is a very very funny poem thomas
0 1 Reply

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