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When the trash can are
       turned over
And the hypocrites come out
       to play,
Swords unsheathed, ready to
Do battle with the
Unquantifiable mechanics of
Of the imagination,
The history major weeps,
Weeps at the uselessness of
       his degree,
Wishing he had opted for
Quantum Physics or Psychology

The mystery man with
       A washboard
Plays green notes and hums out
       A rhythm
Looking pale, mimicking a master
Of the forlorn art of
       Folk Music
The hypocrites pay him no mind
As they lose their battle
In Full retreat they flee a ghost
That never had any intention of
       Haunting them.

The history major
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