Peanuts at the Crossroads

At crossroads of your Present-life,
They peddle God in paper cones
Of peanut pods of Afterlife.

There’s nothing wrong in once or twice
Partaking of those steaming nuts.
There’s nothing more composing, right?

But when you eat at every fork,
Not only have you wasted time,
You’re left with only empty shells.

Oh! Also sound and gassy fury.

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