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In my library, Atlas Shrugged’s placed
So the unwary reader is faced
With a room dank and dark
And a candlelit plaque
Telling him he has terrible taste.
In my library, Atlas Shrugged’s placed
So the unwary reader is faced
With a room dank and dark
And a candlelit plaque
Telling him he has terrible taste.
The things that distress you today
And stress you, though testing, still may
Be recalled with fond yearning
If some future turning
Point pops up and sweeps them away.
There is a girl named Goldilocks
Who always breaks in, never knocks
And if she's in the mood
She'll eat all your food
So long as it's just right (approx.)
Not very good, and not very connected to the comic. Boo-urns!
There once was a nightmare dystopia
Where conditions could not have been ropier.
The machines all awoke
And then endlessly spoke
To themselves, lost in meta myopia.
Bit late, this one, but I'm not going to overanalyse it.