A Brave New World

A Brave New World

The White
Man

His hands
in the
machine

Red his
flavour

The East
in the
bunker

Peace his
march

Nature singin
its own
tune

From the
stars in
the black
night

To the
apples n
oranges

On the
christmas tree

There are
the storms

From the
distant
past

And the
waves of
future

From the
buddin seed

A Man
comes

Cares not
for money

Nor for
the fame

Colors everythin
in his
stride

Leaves in
the million
stars above

For a brave
new World

Caution: This might be all theory

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