Fantasize the exodus,
it's what you do.
Materials of dust
nothing to let-get old and rust,
take care of things
or they'll get bust
and stop working suddenly.
These things should've been free.
If you ask me
Things should grow on a tree,
be naturally profuse.
Not built in a factory,
mass produced...
Refuse to be brainwashed by companies.
Peruse the notion there's more than just "me".
An other option "mother" doesn't see,
what's in your eye is not the key:
It's the door to your soul
your own secret hole
where no one can find you
looking for something
something that you miss.
Though... this is not something to boast,
nor is it to be spread on toast.
It's something you probably sent in the post
to family or friend,
to make amends
for stupid and trivial pursuits,
all because of men and their suits.
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