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Breastfed by stale, headless mothers

They chose to search for a same taste

Taste of a hangman’s seed at the crossroads

Boiled in fetal waters they can’t sing

And they should have never do

Spit on the mothers face

Is the only reward she should get

As the worth she provided

Is below zero, in its essence

Breastfed by stale, headless mothers

They feel deserving of praise

They deserve only mockery

And to see their loved ones starve

No second chances

No first chances

No chances at all