These are the skies which torture our hearts,
From beneath that embrace,
A moment which never came to late,
Only those clouds above which drift,
They’ll move about in a transient glow,
Occasionally they will look down,
Way down below,
Masset your skies with truth that lies,
Another storm we’ve seen,
Before that wet dawn has been,
These vapors which serenade our impatient breaths,
Leave us warm and we will send you off before our deaths,
They have changed once more,
Flutter and transfer and rumble and roar,
Clouds serenade Masset,
You have merely made all below very wet.
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