You and your clan have robot hands,
Tugging and toiling in gardenless anguish.
Your teeth chime like metal flowers
In a sawblade windstorm.
This is the green earth.
Its dirt kin fabuloso.
Fish, fowl and famine!
So what if rain comes on Sundays?
Keep your robot hands in your robot pockets.
What? No pockets?!
No, you pantless rogue!
Gepetto laughs last!
Here's a flowerpot for your ass!
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