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22 May 2020

The Great Grimaldi

heavy weighs the crown

on your crooked brow

you’re master of inanities

and king of all the clowns

but that sugar breath of yours

smells of shit to me

for you have shovelled moths

into your gaping maw

and you’re wearing kind of thin

tell me of that vision narcotic

you pass off as your own

it has the familiar flavour

of someone else’s gum

you got no metal in your veins

or I’d simply cut you down

but I’d be just as happy

if you no longer came around

.

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