Fly away, birdies.


This murder sits as a beggar’s banquet
waiting to be fed by those
who would give all of their love
If they had it to give

But I have fed these foul crows before
and though my coffers are full
These will get no charity from me;

My coffers are full but my patience
for animals,
for simpletons alike,
Has run as dry as Giza,
In it’s later years

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