Nothing good awaits us;
We're born to learn
Death's hovering.
Thus, the seconds tick away
And our hope goes with them,
Vanishing.
Hear pigs squealing,
Nature's screams.
Find out the nature
In ice cream:
How meat
Produces meat
For all to eat,
Eventually.
No, you'd also better roam, at least
Three-hundred streets
On those bare feet
And see whom stops to see,
If any at all act kindly.
Then we'd know,
Then we're free.
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