The
holes popping out so fast
On
a straight road it can be seen
The
people listen minds in remote
Listening
to the 681 American pies
The
people wish it will go
Line
it up in their homes
It
will be a magical story to tell
As
they look at the popping holes
The
people get nothing
The
wishful thinking evaporates
Like
a dream in the magical world
681
American pies diverted elsewhere
The
popping holes staring at them
When
rainfall filling up the holes
The
dancing lines never last
The
people realize they have to pay
There
is nothing on their homes
The
holes grow many in their eyes
Where
is the 681 American pies?
It
lies somewhere living in quiet time
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