These warnings, are trusty
The workers are tired,
trapped with absolute terror.
Touchy wardens, are they.
Toyed with; artists, truly
taxed, worried and torn.
Try whimsical, after ten
totalitarian weekenders, a thousand
totalling wind-ups, against tinsel
titled wankers all tucked-up
toasty, within allibaster towers.
Theiving, wherever. All tokenistic.
Triumphing worthy altruistic tendancies.
Trust. We’re all tuning
to whatever airways, trading
tik with any tok.
Tories will always try
to wantanly alienate, to
totemically wrest, auto-tune tribalism,
top-down widespread allied tabiod
toss, whenever attitudes tire.
This, when actual tradespeople
turn willingly against themselves,
taking whatever acid treaties
they will accelerate tomorrow.
Think why, allus this.
Treat without all thoughtfuness
these words - and these
three-line whipped and tyranic
tuchusleckers will always triumph.
These warnings, are trusty.
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