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Just Like That Robert Frost Poem
in the morning when you wake up
and pour the coffee in your coffee cup
oh the skies are never ending
and the mounds are made of buttercup
is there a heaven i wonder
is there a hell down under us
maybe so, i don't know, i don't know . . .
but mostly i don't care
it's just like that robert frost poem
so for those who go on dying in their cloak
that too is awful nice
and it shall suffice
what is life if not wholly unfair?
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