fraud

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I’m just not the same Where’s the picture for my frame Where’s the candle for my flame  I just am not right  Where’s the sun to bring me light Where’s the pen so I can write  
America the Great? More like America's a fraud, Stealing from the poor, trying to keep up their facade, Polishing their shoes with the sweat of hard workers, Blaming us for their troubles when they're the real shirkers,
Dear Gatsby, When I look at you I see yellow, but mostly black. When the fireflies fly The ladies sway to and fro’. How long have you wondered? Through the big lights. The perilous carriage. Unlike the past we no longer adjourn the future.
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