There is anger in the restless train galloping from city to city,
In the rushing waves hitting the shores,
In empty stomachs and hard penises,
In the deserted island of Self.

There is anger in the deafening noise of engines,
In the sound of ambulances carrying troubled people,
In the cruel laughter of a madman,
In the deserted island of Self.

There is anger in headlines announcing crimes, rapes, outbreaks of fire,
In the scream of the baby coming out of his mother's womb,
In those who dwell six feet under yearning for a new life,
In the deserted island of Self.

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