You'll see them strut about
in confusion, heads full of clout
They'll stagger without hope
not knowing how to cope
In this darkness they grope
making stage their preferred stop
Their, sorrounded by bottles brown
our tomorrow they fervently drown
With the dew they troop back
a battalion that has killed its luck
Songs stagger from their mouths
reclaiming perceived noble births
Do we what with a people like these
followed everywhere by hungry fleece
Mercy? I hear you say no please
just let them savour the illusive peace!
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