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Absentee Landlord Too late, my Lord, long swords unsheath, ascend We call, they call but you are off attending sparrows' needs instead While we are counting coffins, filling crypts with tears You hide, exterior to sorrow's need to childrens' fears Too late, my Lord Too late for them, too late for us (as You might well surmise) There is no room in sight of tiny graves for compromise |
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