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Scrawny legs whip past the fences
Sticks and stones their only defenses
If we were in charge of the world today
Toy boxes would be the only cache

They went astray in the dead of night
When they banded together and then took flight
Disowned by any
Except themselves
Nurtured by juvenilia
And the stealth of elves

Creations of lands,
Where you’ve never been,
In the hands of the makers,
Who have no kin

Engulfed in pursuit
Overcome with greed
Bearing juvenilia
Like it’s their creed

And their full grown legs march back to the garden
Armed with weaponry with no remorse nor pardon
You’ve let juvenilia slip away
Out into the dark and into the fray
They rule the world on their own accord
Bowing to riches, as their only lord

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