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Why do you work when you're sick of lifting,
when you're sick of lifting?
The festivities left you on the shelf.
Why're you always trying to please everybody but yourself:
"That which bears witness to it's own failure..."
are you so sure?
Why do you work for the festival, when you're sick of lifting spirits,
spirits, to the sky?
"Body" and "Soul":
Two words for that same nameless thing you have never known.
Why do you work in place of bearing witness to your own inclusion,
inclusion, inclusion...
and strike!?!!
Strike!!!
