We may have been oppressed,
equally lost at sea.
Maybe we don't wear it
as well, although repressed,
yes, for five hundred years.
How the world never hears
aspiring voices shout,
voices drowned out by free
enterprise, sponsors quit...
Beneath the skin, we doubt
even for a moment
everything, how it went...
needlessly looked over.
Overlooked... in clover,
power recognizes power,
provided you got game...
restless beneath the skin,
evidently, the hour
still exists until death,
shaken not stirred, the shame...
endlessly we begin
despite our final breath.
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