One man's pain, is another man's corn
It's just a thought in the form of a stubborn crop
If we could only yield some understanding in the field
Would we need to cross that kitchen threshold
And permeate every plate on every tabletop?
Suffering can be an ample thing to process on repeat
When hunger hangs a spoon by our eyes
The choice is there to gouge out our own insides
Moved to a scene, with dinner trays sitting between you and me
One man's grain, is now another man's scorn
Shorn at their scraggly roots into a newer form
If we could only wield utensils kindly with our meals
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