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The clouds are swirling. It is a dangerous sight. It sucks up our day.
It's rumbling below One blastoff from volcano Hot things, land, above So hot to cook a chicken Or burn everything in path
A rush of wind Hair swaying in the Autumn skyEyes like sunsetsLook to beautiful scenes ahead
Pitter patter of the rain on my head Sends the fears straight to bed, In the things gone unsaid. And the crackle of the thunder Sending all the pain asunder Taking respite in the clouds
Nowadays,When you think of Puerto Rico,You think of streets filled with tears slipping through the Mambo.Palms,Cold while holding hope as close as they can,
Should've been born a tap-dancer Maybe that would justify the way My foot beats incessantly at any solid surface But that wouldn't explain my hands Fingers fumbling around themselves
I am a tornado in constant neutrality between anger and content carrying itself on, destroying whatever is in front of me, unapologetically.
Oklahoma met a vortex that gave and took, more or less, by adding stress and taking homes – The tragedies are causing moans with rains and tears of agony. The loss and pain of tragedies
Death, is a jealous fellow he has no age, grace, nor liking it considers not woe, nor sorrow he displays a complete arbitrary arrival he does not consider survival and lingers with denial
The river embraced its one true form To travel its depths through hail and storm. Through the village and through the town Through the kingdom that once was crowned.
As I pan across the landscape, I laugh, this isn’t real. I look to where the two oak trees tower over my little country farmhouse. Their giant leafy branches just barely brushing the edge of the tar-black roof.
There is a fire in the sky! A beautiful arrangement of clouds burning alive! Celestial inferno! You have come to call for me With a blaze of Inti’s fire!