Numbers march not to return
In their footsteps centuries burn
Cooped up men yes women too
Sipping the same insipid stew
The Penguins all on tundra flap
clueless hobble on a deceitful gap
Dismal blacks pepper the whites
cloaking rays from hooded sights
Know not that in memories fought
in ornate caves are lemmings caught
Clueless saplings twirl and turn
to catch an eye that they yearn
Millions lost to plots and schemes
Sold on quirky quixotic dreams
In farther lands Lenin is dead
yet here he sleeps on a rosy bed
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