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He sold himself as pure virgin wool

But at the drop of a match was revealed

A polyester


The whole world now congealing

Within the flames of his rhetoric

We found him crashed

At the outskirts of town

Crumpled against

A large avocado tree

Soft-top piled full

Of the dislodged harvest

Rotting amongst 

His messy blond hair

We left him there

Feeling it was the right thing to do

To rot like the fruit that he

Had shaken down from the tree

 So carelessly. 

Stills and transcript from Pure Virgin Wool


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