Adaptation
Poesie Noire
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This place looks like anthill
Too many people too organised
Till somebody puts his foot in it
And the people go berserk
People always state the rules, what exists is possible
But they leave no way out... What is possible doesn't exist
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From behind their dark desks they tell you how to live your life
And when you knock on their breasts
It sounds as hollow as can be, echoing one word
Adaptation is the word, adaptation is the means