from your footstool, a comfortable cradle
you placed me i hesitate not to meddle
with my ever fattening factory smoke
thicker clouds, i cherish to make
trapping me tight behind those bars
from which neither me nor my princely
progeny
will ever escape like a turtle trapped
under her own unyielding roof
thus with my shortsightedness i build
greater momentum to cause first, an hasty
homicide, moving then, to a silent suicide
pushing, further, to a genocide and a
globocide
while the sulfuric stink from my artificial
cloud
that deteriorating dead carcass shall
pierce
through the ozone layer keeping pure the
cloud
you send to refurbish my life at your
footstool
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