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What it really is They donít surprise me, sometimes they Stall it and take a while to fully arrive But they donít disappoint, They are still predictable, what I expect. Their faces may be different There may be a small spark of originality In the creases of their foreheads, Their blackheads, their noses But the eyes damn them, The window to the soul. When the sun rises it may appear to be Unique in a million places, East, west, north or south Or wherever you are But it is the same sun. Stick your head or hand into The mouth of the tiger And it will be only a tiger And do what it knows to do, So donít be shocked when They try to destroy you Again and again and again.....
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