People are silent in the shadow of a man,
Terrified like an old gran,
Hiding like a sardine in a can,
While eating with a bun.
I notice that venting is now a crime,
Even their gut is empty from time to time,
Still dreading to ventilate the begrime,
Who will expound in every distant tongue?
They complain yet no one enunciates,
Their marshall...
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