Our Landlord

Fashororon built houses like bird cages
I suspect our house is his personal shrine
For everyday he comes to worship
He holds his grey as a special permit
It lets him shit on everyman’s door
He walks with a crooked stick that resembles his character
He is the eye of God, he knows it all
Even though he denies his eyes the gift of sight
He nags more than a talking drum
Fashoronron lives like a lonely hermit
No one ever visits him, but his butt does not sit still
As soon as I sniff him, I bolt my lock.


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