“Who is this moke who keeps complaining
About us funky homeless who
Are sick and tired of his maintaining
We are an infestation to
His home to be eradicated
Because we aren’t domesticated,
Don’t live our lives from 9 to 5,
As he does, yet we still survive?
You know what I think? He’s just jealous
Because we’ve looked into the void
And none of us has been destroyed.
It’s true though he can often smell us
But what he smells is his own fear
That, homeless, he will die like Lear.”
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