Late night on a empty train station,
I paid a man $5 to write me a poem.
He loudly typed words like blow, monuments, revolution.
A bad situation.
Seems I’ve found a rebel in the capital.
Skreeching she came,
demanding that attention be paid,
its showtime folks,
hear my words, its now or never,
the lord will not wait,
specially considering you ride the,
this metallic box to the depths of bronx.
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