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[08 Jul 2011|03:10am] |
They keep us convinced
To lift up our chins
These playing fields are level
We all have a chance
With that they dismiss
The fast lanes they rode
In which access depends on who you know
Or where you came from
Whose daughter are you?
Whose fortunate son?
We're told
To stick out our thumbs
They feast from the linens
while we settle for crumbs
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