"Woody"
You who straps those cliched surfboards atop your skull, whose lost smoke echoes the loss of childhood, gum on the sole. You have no sense of wonder. And your name--chrissakes--an incantation unspoken here, in this crowd especially, who wears solid colors and eat bland, saltless foods. Okay, Surfin' USA, strap it on, rip it off, treetops, the swill of a wave like your spit in the toilet.
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