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I have grown past hate and bitterness,
I see the world as one;
Yet, though I can no longer hate,
My son is still my son.
All men at God's round table sit
And all men must be fed;
But this loaf in my hand,
This loaf is my son's bread.
I see the world as one;
Yet, though I can no longer hate,
My son is still my son.
All men at God's round table sit
And all men must be fed;
But this loaf in my hand,
This loaf is my son's bread.
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