| Ants |
Its a morning Like every other dawning eight ants are putting on their pants fit, they're marching down the block all of them are looking at the clock waiting for the bus they don't realize the fuss on, they get to work without realizing, it's their torc huge feet are pounding around them but, they feel it not Large enough, these crush them Still they feel it not simple, that's their lot Eight of them have come to pass and yet, more, eight of them will come cause even they, this feel it not. |
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