The Giants Might Kill Us Some Day

Between tolls of knolls and mighty terrain

There’s a hundred thousand giants asleep,

They wake up sometimes and move shit around

So trekking is a hassle,

They look like life and death and fear

Depending on weight and size,

On Sundays and Thursdays they roll down boulders

From atop the hill to the village.

We know they are there

And will be for years

Increasing in terms of matter,

We don’t mention them much

On days of joy

And on days we have fairer weather.


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