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Clapham Junction
From two o' clock until half past two he stands
 At Clapham Junction in the grey Autumn rain
 An audience which swells with each new train
 Surrounding him; they laugh and clap their hands
 Throwing green flowers, jeering as they fall
 At the feet of this broken hearted clown
 Once on his pedestal now fallen down
 To the pillories where pariahs crawl.
 The great performer destined to entertain
 Now causes amusement that nought can exceed
 A tragedy so mean as to induce mirth
 What a dreadful thing to mock a soul in pain
 To abhor a man for what was born at birth
 Centre-stage in chains - entertainment indeed.

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