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The mud that sticks in the cracks in the tyres
The tiny lakes fighting wild fires
The four sad men on the wrong side of the room

Getting off getting in the way
Waddling wildlife in swift decay
Pretty soon you're entombed and behind plate glass

And oh, what a legacy - clinging pathetically.

I'm glad I'm not your daughter
I'm glad I'm not your son
I'm glad I'm not your doctor or your God,
your shower scum

Shame

Oh, what a legacy - clinging pathetically to your shame.

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