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Created on: June 14, 2010
It's positve pain
The pouring of the rain,
A drop of deams
A million miles way.
By tropical shores
The weary rain pours,
On poor folk crouching
Under split-tin homes
It's wet and cold
As the long tnight unfolds,
And dreams of smoking grass
Helps drives out the snakes.
It's clear and true
Brushing a window close to you,
Your car, stops at lights
Before slowly rollling away.
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