The crocodiles
Walking on land
They struggle to live by
Staring at their own misery
They can't offer advice
They can't propose better ways
They live in their own shells
Dreaming of paradise
The crocodiles
In the day they sleep
In the night they hunt
In between they just gliding by
Once they open their mouth
No words of wisdom but bad aroma
Even the wind will stop blowing
Afraid to spread the bad ways
The crocodiles
The hunters should net them in
Skin their skin to let them feel
The agony how the people sense it
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