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You’ve got me standin’ on my knees,
A’searchin’ for a beggar’s alms,
From folks who’re deaf to all my pleas
And blind to open palms.
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6674
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FROM A DYING COCKROACH Life never promised much… born in a crack, raised in a cage of gargantuan construction, tortured by a crew of sadistic gods whose every casual step could spell butchery… chased with rolled newspaper and swatter… days holed-up in…
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