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Baptists
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Bushcraft
Machetes chop
Wool catches dew
Knives sharpened
On stones
Dirty palms
Cup streams to lips
Smoke scented
Tools
I want to practice bushcraft
And leave this shit behind
I want to practice bushcraft
And leave this fucking shit
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Fuck your city planning
You clones are too demanding
Your hopes are set as high
As these yuppies' fucking homes
I'll fall trees for shelter
Eat foraged food forever
And sleep next to fires
And breathe the open air
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