Hey brother can you spare about a half a quart of rye?
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Ontario water's killed before and I fear I'm the next one on its mind.
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I'm damned to review front pages, late apologies that couldn't save us.
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Barely literate, but well-fed, the fire in our eyes is a spark at best.
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They'll sell the gas like they sell the water, I bet they'll kill us with that too.
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And we'll be choking ourselves to sleep alone at night
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because we like the girls that think real hard.
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We'll never get our parents to understand.
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Not till everything is gone.
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Not till their last cherished safety net remains to be cut,
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slashed, gone, gone, gone.
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And cutting Health Care's just the start,
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cutting Welfare's just the start,
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cutting our schools is just the start.
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How did it ever get this far?
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This is adherent to a greater trend of which we're but a part.
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Such is our chance now to stand, reach out,
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pull, and bring down crumbling walls with us.
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Next stop old Queen's Park.
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Our eyes will light the dark.
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We'll find fuel for that spark.
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Burning down the walls around the floors on which they're traded lives for votes.
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I'll take the trouble to investigate the rubble for a heart that'll set me right.
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I'll step down from this soapbox built in local halls on the weekends.
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I'll acknowledge this as optimism at best and trade my patchcords in for neckties.
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And I'll run back to my job.
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-----------------
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Walkerton, Workfare, And The Wusses Who Watched
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Bombs Over Providence |