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The thunderbird

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The Thunderbird

There the clouds rise
A boiling cauldron
Summer monsoons
The air slogs on

The storm will likely pass
Blotting lightening bolts
Across the sky each flash
Tease us of what could have been

We could have been swept away
We could have been struck down
We could have so easily drowned
Or have gotten our hair wet

But here we are, back in the heat
A swimming pool full of chlorine
And staphylococcus stew
We are only here for a short scene

So we may as well grumble
Until the next swell belches up
From the earth's belly and rumbles
We may as well take flight, so jump.

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