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Zane A. Murray

Rumble, rumble, goes the Earth,
The place where we live, the blue marbled hearth,
Infested with people, everlasting disease,
Taking from the earth, pulling, to cease.

We don’t know it, but we all have a barcode,
Things that you have already blandly showed,
Something that someone else chose,
Not on our skin, not on our clothes.

All working for the plays of one person,
We think things will change, but really they will worsen,
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