Even if it killed the race
Of those who cooperate,
If we replaced all the teams,
The maneuverings, the schemes,
With one dream of well being.
Everyone sick in the head
Would be innocent of dread,
Helplessly trusting instead.
No exceptions, everyone,
Even the grifters, no one
Conniving under the sun,
No one caring to keep score.
Engineer that fungal spore.
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