one hundred and two years old
we are turned away from the face of the fire
by virtue of one document
oh, how important is paper to this land
taken out of the roots of its olives
splashed with the ink of hundreds tears
black as the day we were signed off
a place for no one, left for everyone
this is the fate of nations
for their kindness, a blow on the head
an increased hundred and two
years of pain washed out with sea-salt.
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