While the world delivers one wretched
one liner after another
And I scamper under the lash
of invention’s mother
I get the sneaky feeling
that all of creation
is nothing but a product of
the process of elimination
Garbage in and look
at just what comes in and out
Where the sun don’t shine
guess that’s what I’m talking about
I guess that you could guess
I think it’s all masturbation
or at best another pile of elimination
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