The violent currents, the cool sea breeze, the slippery sands, the remiscent waters,
a thought comes by, while the birds fly, sixty-six fifty, du weti du weti chi.
watercolour marks, a couple handful barks, oil n brush stroke, they ALL went broke.
the thoughts subside, when the waves break their tide, a tender colour the sky wears, a fancy victim the water craves.
All out! Right now! Go, go, go! the whistle blower blows an alarming row, we rush for refuge in the first place we find, a taxman taxes us over with words unkind.
Heading back out, with a tea blue mouth, the waves they simply mock, while the people vainly talk.
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