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Insane

Insane

The world in which we live
On a daily basis
Is not what we're being told
About whatever crisis
So I hand pull weeds
From my garden while thinking
To let it all go
While my plot grows
Yet, what I already know
Surrounds
Seeds of doubt
For the stinking lies
Buzzed by flies
While I'm drinking
Which gives me something
To shout about
In the screaming mix
Of bugs and calamity
That continually barrage
Toward insanity
Where we are celebrated
For our vanity
Of purpose


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