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It Just Don't Make No Sense.

When we try to make sense of things,
It never works.
Why? Who knows? But the bee still stings.

Preachers still preach, politicians still lie.
And I think that no one shall ever know why.
Things that make sense
Are like a sixpence:
Foreign to you and me;

Unless you live in England,
But nothing makes sense there either.
The countries of the world are more alike than they seem;
Nothing in England drifts upstream.
The bees of Africa sting with as much fury
As those of Brazil;

But then, they are the same species.

(I know it's bad, but I've since learned how to write poetry.)


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