In this painted house sister Matang
We have food, we have roads, among
The nursing of many malicious injuries
From sharp splinters of perjuries
In the form of broken bills, promises
And policies bashed by our bosses.
Razor-sharp cracks that roam offices
And swarm other peripheral places
Triggering bleeding in the freedom
Natured one thrilling dawn. The freedom
On a death path because of desert.
It has amassed fatal filthy dust.
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