(for the cruel big spenders
Neglecting the garden your only home
to plant the seeds of diversity,
crushing towards the stardust walls
in a strangled ocean,
too stoned and too high to feel anything
in just three thousand sixty one
former lives.
The burning sun
is moaning in the rooms
you still dared to call your heart.
The Master is hiding behind a grey hair
just above your left eye.
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