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Minds dressed in greyThey wander the battlefieldDeftly wielding their bladesOf hindsight - the battle is lost.The wounded cry, unheard,Cut short by the steel of the Grey OnesUsed without emotion.Just a soupcon of a sneer.The auditors pick over the corporate bonesOf a life's work. A family dream.Vulture necks in polycotton.Outside it starts to rain.The sandwiches go stale.Tick.Tock.
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