Patty Cake - 2012/11/07

Let us sit down and spin a tale
Of a mythical and perfect place
Rather than search out the truth
Our lies will run a magical race

With every round they shall grow
Unaware of any physical boundary
Practically but an illusion shed
As we gorge ourselves in a spree

So lead turns into precious gold
Despite the rotten stench rising
As the consequences slowly build
Ignoring any fix of our devising

Oh it is a lovely game is it not
One that everybody likes playing
Even as we systematically neuter
Cynics who persist in nay saying

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