It’s twenty eighteen,
still throwing garbage across the street.
Broken clay pots
and ladoos in the bathroom.
I don’t get it. I’ll never get it!
How people get lost in a maze
with a blindfold on
and think everything’s okay.
They move along and sing along in song
These sheep put their own handcuffs on!
But I’m the crazy one
for noticing everything that’s wrong
while hypocrisy runs rampant
and mental slavery continues in song.
Left are the pot holes of broken roads,
dirt, dogs and dung.

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