This is not rhetoric
It comes from my heart
I love this country
Daneland I am your kin
You were the ones who work together
Put the money in the pockets
Of the few and their fortunes
Who crowd the school benches
And jeer at us all because they don’t care about us
They are graceless and you shouldn’t be with them
Because they are all disconnected and raised up in mansions
And two hundred plastic bags in a whales stomach
So you turn to the trident
Are we green are we pleasant?
We are not either of those Father
We are a shaking wreck where nothing grows
Lost in the sky coloured oils of Merrieland
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