The Cup
They still want us to suffer as if we have left
The residue at the bottom
Maybe doubting we finished that cup yet
The drink wasn’t supposed to taste awesome
They keep treating us rather sternly
Even though we are still miles apart
Maybe happier than it was meant to be
Taking suffering as the high art
Of those who remember better than us
The garden with apple tree
But living each day as if it were our last
We’ve done all the drinks, haven’t we?
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