Where are you now, Gao Rongrong,
And those who felt appalled;
When did they alter long war songs,
Their sympathies dissolved?
I want the men who tortured you
To tell me what was wrong;
And would they use the same on me
To praise their giblet-gods.
I see a heaven where you study,
Surrounded by loved ones;
Back down here there’s 7G,
They’re burning telephones.
There is an army, terracotta,
Of millions just like you;
We march with our stigmata
Into one more meeting room.

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