The coming of the mole

It is not the present tense

It is in the past

Where future is broken

We sell not for last

We open our breeding

And show future colour

As green as the beading

As black as the past.

We sell our new Nature

Of physical ruin

We stand by our phase

We’re coming at last

No structural colour

Can withstand our repast

Bring me my machine gun

I’ll riddle you fast.



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