Matarael
Through the street's cuts and edges
Divided by rolling, speeding wedges,
Rain hastily sears the worn hedges,
As well as dusty, solemn pledges.
A flood comes to consume
Benches melt and lamposts bend into canes
With a flickering end
A city meets it's disintegrating end
Before one can count to ten.
Acid rain strikes again.
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