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where had my wacka gone 
In the corner sits my daughter,Her skin dry and lips chapped<br>She begs those who walk by for water<br>The people walk by, their responses are apt<br>No says one woman, we need some for us<br>Although my daughter cries, an
My eyes keep burning from what seems like one hundred hours of staring into a dry wind. That wind seems determined to send my retinas into a drought. It hurts to close them.
Living in a world Where nothing can stay the same Where everyone is fretting Day after day   Why should those who need it Have to go without Are we trying to destroy
My body and soul detached from the spine that weaves them sinks and floats, respectively, with no direction.
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