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Adam Mott Nov 2016
Snow upon the land
Skies ashen gray
Cold and unperturbed
Every bit of nothing stays the same

Who is one to know the time of day
No sun, no moon
Only moral decay

Lights adorn the suburbs
Green and red
Children dreaming recklessly of days ahead

In windows and mirrors, I see my name
An idea, an entity
Someone to blame
The only season yet to change

— The End —