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The click of the clock tick off the days we have left.
Streets hold the glisten taken from lost dew.
Neither know the end is near.
Cool wind blows in winter from the North.
The poles are changing.
The shift is here.
There is green on my front yard,
painted from summer.
All proof the government is in on the illusion.
They sit behind the curtain pulling strings
to make the weather dance and change.
Some go out and deny it is all coming.
But we know different
We saw it online.
Haaa haaa haaa
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