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Harold Weathervein

de Cursive

Harold walks down any street of this town
both crier and witness the sun drops clouds shift
his legs twitch

the clocks chime on cafes, pharmacies, and dime stores, in bar rooms he stils all alone erupting.
in his head its like the weather
back and forth its like the weather
when it rains it pours down

Weatherman, do you feel?
Is it stormy inside of your veins?

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