I feel sorry for you who live up there
in countries full of shopping malls and grey houses,
your streets are as sterile as your hearts.
The darkness of your winters has eaten your soul
and there is no sunlight in your rare smile.
You are rich and drive colourful expensive cars
while your trees got no flowers
and your birds are mute.
You've learned your traditions on a TV show
and worry about the colour of your nail polish.
Your credit cards do not hug you
and your feet have never danced for real.
You pity us,
calling us
third world.
I feel sorry for you.
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