There is a building with columns of thickness.
Pretending to marble.
It stands proud and tall.
Is this some kind of building of distinction?
Take close notice.
It’s a funeral hall.
It is a symptom of this place
Where they worship the dying
And put on a pedestal
Those who have died.
Where they beat down the artist
And they cut off the thinker,
And even the genius
Must know how to hide.
Where you see silver snakes slither like lightning,
Stoking people on their mad morning dash.
Their purse full of cash and their hearts of cinder.
Burnt out people with
Minds whitened to ash
Illustration: Cosmopolitan Funeral Homes
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