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Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.


There's little in taking or giving,
There's little in water or wine;
This living, this living, this living,
Was never a project of mine.

O hard is the struggle and sparse is
The gain of the one at the top,
For art is a form of catharsis,
And love is a permanent flop.

And work is the province of cattle,
And rest's for the clam in the shell,
So I'm thinking of throwing the battle -
Would you kindly direct me to Hell?

Last update: Saturday, November 10, 2001 11:10

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