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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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