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I We seek to impress: Never last season but Belong to the group And be up front. The makers of style know how to Entice us to buy as recklessly As they turn out their goods. Manipulate us by creating Desires we don't have. The pace and tempo quickens Design, produce, dispatch Then discard and dispose The patterns which rule our lives The cast-offs and tatters of our days A sink of human wastefulness. II We ditch and dump The fragments and remains Of our lives from just last year And do not worry about The price of being in fashion A price not paid by us, but by others. We turn a blind eye to the cost of brands Whetting our appetite at every turn Forever coming back for more Supporting injustice far away. The shreds and scraps we Throw away reveal our sorry state: Defined less by what we are Than by what we have to wear. III The dry beauty of rocks and sand Stretches to the horizon and the First rays of the dawn sun Fill the cold air with yellow light Light which now falls on the Smouldering heaps of rags The worthless refuse We have dumped here Defacing a landscape untouched For centuries in its lonely beauty Until we arrived.
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