Bees

This city is too sterile for me I won't live with my head in a cloud
I'll give up my creature comforts to walk barefoot on the dirt and be proud



Now I live happily with the agrarists as the effluent of your burn out life will forever drop
Into our river then become cleansed to nourish our bountiful crop

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The sands of time past keep shifting according to how we remember or forget or refashion it in hindsight, which is no sight at all.
Kajal Basu