It's those deadlines dampening my imagination..
It reeks of mould!
I live in it but can scarcely afford to.
I'm forced to eat a thing green too but less tasty.
It's that lack of wretched money,
which we no longer see.
How can we depend on this immaterial God called one?
Not three or you and me...
It's 1001011010111.
For me it's 000010, account error and declined.
My imagination will dress up in black soon to dive.
Can i riot too?
Will I be bad?
Though justice and morality I hold dear,
They're too dear for me,
but my clothes mismatch.
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