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In hunger lies an end of man,
and Some still Say, a gruesome plan,
for when the money printing stops,
the shortened food supply began.

The tractors failed to field the crops
to all the broken, raided shops
in cities with just days of food
as starving violence runs dark ops.

The masses lull to cattle crude
with naught to kill their mindless mood,
stampeding city streets alone
for riches’ burdens misconstrued.

These wastrel fools show sharp-edged bone
and lacerated feet by stone,
led ever on with undead moan
till dust they fall, and wrongs atone.

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