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This afternoon thunderheads loomlet go of your weather balloon |
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Certain doom of one more mission |
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Out and over to the moon - overflow that way soon |
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If all we fought for was senseless laws, |
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We gave up like weaklings who long ago lost their god |
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Impossible odds, but comparatively they are really not, |
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There will always be parts and pieces of us under and in rocks |
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We are often childish in many ways |
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And just like children purposelessly behaved |
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But somewhere else this will all be erased |
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And then nowhere taking on a somewhere shape |