It’s not me, is it? Never was … never will be

The stuff that came my way 

All these days

Never was my fault;

Never was I to blame.

It was always others 

Who caused me

So much grief: and 

In their casual fascist instincts 

Which truly, indeedy, 

Were fascist as could be,

They did spend their time

Trying to convince me of their 

Worth, when in fact their

Worth is little more 

Than the shit you see after 

Prize bulls off to bull-ringed

Slaughter scrabble 

Heavily by.

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