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They give us a black sun,

A poetry of the absurd,

Wailing strained metaphors,

To programme word by word;

They give us rock and roll,

Regimentation of the beat,

Electronic identity,

Programmed tweet by tweet.

So where is there more substance,

Where can I begin to belong?

And where to read the meaning

In the phrases of birdsong?

The sun breaks through - a gentle heat -

We too sit and write - word by word.

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