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Canada Dreams |
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Death Of The Owls
Gorging on the flesh of wood
Scoffing all, on it goes, devouring
Driven by a fantasy of selfish gluttony
As it grabs its hoard cord by cord
Like candy at a street parade
It snaps up our jewels and gobbles
Piling the bodies, dead in rows
Spitting out the limbs, keeping the torso
This thing from corporate hell
Welcome to the business end, and on the other
Fluffy stuff that wipes your ass
On and on, raping, night then day, feasting
A filthy tongue spits from its mouth as the
Man made monster hacks off one more head
For the boiling pot, one a minute
Keep going, oblivion is just around the corner
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