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The air is warm and bright,
And birds are tweeting tunes,
In wind that writes of times
Payed out under spying moon.
When silver was worth more than life,
A traitor walked amongst his friends.
His plan was to incite strife:
He fed on greed. Who'd comprehend
His costly, oily scented swoon?
That still applies deceitful masks.
They add to tiers that bear down.
Affecting man’s underlying tasks:
They mould a mood that suits a frown.
Tormenting folk in dreaded blasts;
They guide the eye: to spin the clowns
Who shout about this living hell,
As they wallow in their own dark nouns.
But life’s a game: A living art
And we awake each day and choose our mark.