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Nothing to do
Empty, empty shells
broken, drunken voice
Devoid of emotion
the crooked eyes that looked,
Lively, hunted face
nothing worthwhile to do.
In these days, we
search for what we hide inside,
A tide that forms
a blunted memory roots
Beer, drug capsule
a memory shop
I have nothing to do.
Plagues on my teeth
smoking, darkened lips
Dirty nasty hair,
weak, swollen hips
Shabby, rough nose
cocky, bony torso
Malnourished,
evidence, the protruding collar bones
Lost the will to live
drunken cripple lazy bones
Someone rock me
to sleep.
Till the end of time
I wake,
My work begins,
meanwhile,
I have nothing to do.
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