Are we but savages?
Do we have the legs to run this race?
For it is thy shadow image
That maketh a faded face
Are we but children?
Sucking breats from dusk to dawn
Will it be milk or chicken then?
Lest we be named clowns.
Are we but lawless?
Birthed with or in inpure seed?
Perhaps we are heartless
Forsaking the one that did bleed.
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