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Hair On The Arms And Legs

Archive 1967-75

See him digging, see him weeding
Every single day of the year

Coffee at eleven, four thirty tea
His security is built on routine

But inside his mind, there's a lot going on
Planning the world but it just don't do no good

I say: «What's the use?»
Population, starvation,
his mind keeps working hard
Ending wars, changing laws
and all of them locked away

In cessation, repetition
funeral for an age of decay
Meditation, deep frustration
Caused our hairy friend to die

Here lies a man
Who failed to escape
Filled his small head with the worries
That plague the world

I say: «What's the use?»

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