I don't think compassion needs an order.
Savour our Saviour across the border.
Shine on melancholic disorder.
Bring your passion and record her.
Resent and resent and resent some more.
Keep your keys and keep your door.
I can't walk and talk no more.
So I take my orders and watch the floor.
Trapped and contained with no liberation.
I've had a gutful of appreciation.
No escape and no end of frustration.
Take me away Dad to the sorry nation.
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