Bureaucratic hippies finger fucking
Their dreams and slow roasting
Their spit to a well-oiled glaze.
What's the use in getting old
If the trees go unloved,
Set fire to the fat and old
Hypocritical oak. They are
The spinning steel blade
Not the warm fleshy embrace,
Tired men destroy more than
The springs on their bed.
Communism's not dead.
It just got old.
And frayed like the rope
Holding chaos in the air.
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