Problems march sideways
back to back
the little ones slip by
the big ones stack
acid eats the newsprint
the microfiche is failing
can't find a drive to read the bits
magnetically derailing
Yet they say they're keeping copies
of every damn thing
they say they're the good guys
but they wear those skull rings
And problems stacked on problems
make me feel so small
I'd like to turn a back on it
but I can't summon up the gall
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