You Decide


Some people don't like a poem that rhymes.

The wind chimes.

Exposing our crimes.

Like snitches dropping dimes.

Get me a tequila with limes!

I've tried to change how many times.

Without a voice were all similar painted mimes.

But were all different people many different kinds.

And all I keep hearing is nothing but whines.

So lets all dress to the nines.

And take a vacation and head to the pines.

Or we'll turn in to robots walking in lines.

You decide..

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