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Mental Thing
Can I be exonerated
For the crimes I never commited?
There’s no one to ask, I’m afraid
Which doesn’t make me uplifted
And its nowhere to go, I’m unseen
Cause my passport is shining too bright
Unwelcomed, I see the screen
But never I saw the light,
Of that special hour, before the evening
Covers your land, my reader
No rest for the wicked, believe me
Wicked isn’t me, but a leader
Of lemmings with human faces
Though I don’t belong to that file
I never cared for rat races
But for you I’m of common pile
Concerning about your peace
You cannot see what you’re not shown
It’s not an eyesight disease
But a mental thing, still unknown.
Copyright ©
Gregory Colodub
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