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The Hills

Its Saturday morning
Awaking to knocks on the door
“Come on dude its 1”

stumbling out of bed
Into the garage
Onto my bike

The morning air wakes me up
Its dry

The sun is on top of us
Scorching our backs
As the wind cools our faces

Legs or rubber
Sweat in your eyes
Every hill is a fight
Racing for the right to say you were first





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