Rebecca Martin
a llace in the country
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Picture minds working for whatâs good
So that all things could have a place their own
If every inch is a concrete box
Whatâs free is only what youâll buy into
Thereâs no turning back
Every garden tilled into another monstrous mess
Birds are silenced by our rude desire
A weakness is all they need to grow
Our fear so weâll follow
Thereâs no turning back
One mans vision is not the word
Of all who live here now
Dressed disguised as one who says he knows
Ignorant is the human heart
Consumed by the thought
It doesnât have enough