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sandman and his dusts
the ships have come again tonight,
to sprinkle all those dusts;
the ships across the rainbow bridge,
the ships that never rust.
say, my child, have you wondered,
how the dusts are made?
the dusts they sprinkle once a while
are made by fairy maids.
the fairies gather here and there
the memories on land;
memories fade, they steam and away,
and turn to sandman’s sand.
the sandman huffs to tender youths,
they fall to sound o’ sleep;
at yonder end of the yellow brick road,
they see what should never be seen.
Betty posters laugh and guffaw,
so do the nearly headless Nicks;
poppy perfume enamors the kids,
and hounds in high-hats lick.
recall, my child, try to recall,
how the dusts are made?
they’re the gathered memories
and knitted by the maids.
memory is a dangerous thing,
it’s secrets in the dark;
a man wear suits and ties, but inside,
he f*cks, he kills, he barks.
so now, my child, the story ends,
but starts my confession deep;
i’m the man wearing suits and ties,
like everyone down the street.
for now you know the many truths,
i wish you a sound goodnight;
when the sandman comes,
leave a door open, lie welcome.
and when he sprinkles the sand,
don’t fight.
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Inspired by the ugly "truths" parents feed their children, and how the children can do nothing about it but accept.