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Ant Smith
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Our World


Some lives are as pure as the snow the spring rains wash away

Bursting forth through frosted fields with fresh hopes for a new age

Ignorant that the place they grow is nought but last year's grave

That all life feeds upon the grief of forebears passed away

O little plant grow big and strong but please do wipe your feet

You've set your roots down in amongst the heart of life's disease

For your beauty feeds on carrion in this carousel

The merry-go-round of life and death is our private hell

Now winter's cessation gifts you this duty to excel

You've got to be greater than the shit upon which you dwell

The greatest sin is not living strong and successfully

Respect your still born kith and kin and what they may have been

So little plant grow big and strong

For on you we'll soon feed

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Our World