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Treading darkened water
The mutiny it took
Like lambs raised to the slaughter
In abattoirs we're hooked
Where yellow is the new blue
With red also recalled
A rainbow spectrum lined true
Two colours prime, befall
Befall a flock asunder
as the only shepherds left
As skies rumble with thunder
Lies tumble, manifest
Like lightning in a bottle
We count after the sound
As storms approach full throttle,
and sharks, they circle round
Circle shallow waters
Made to look so deep...
More cryptic than they ought to
The secrets puddles keep
With oceans sliced, divided
For the big fish in the pond
Balanced, fathomed, bided
Rendered bored, we don't respond
With fish stocks fixed by oceans
Where one ends? where one begins?
With goldfish bowl type notions,
we should be counting fins!
With water stagnant, tepid
Such crooks the herders wield
Sheep object to shepherds...
We should be looking to the field!
A strong and stable voyage led?
For the many, not the few?
Fleet Street sharks attacking red
yet fine in oceans blue
Where sound bites chum the water,
Archaic barbed hooks through gills.
With lambs raised for the slaughter
… and mutineers treading rills