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Amongst My Swans

A small empty room
fills up with ugly ducklings.
Feathers and faded blue jeans,
souls are born putting the damage on.

We never say what we mean
So we're always saving face
It's adaptive, but out of style,
nothings is more that a trend.

Dazed and confused,
With bad hair cuts and
glass eyes (without fashionable frames)
clarity is such a bore.

Geeks grow dollars,
Fashion grows old. 
I smile on my throne
Amongst my swans.

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