April 4, 2008
The country allows me to live there,
This place is very kind.

The land grows rapidly in the summer,
Grows many plant and crops.

Cars are whispering by,
Whispering in the blowing wind.

The bonfire hurts the ground,
It screams for help in the dark smoke.

I wish it had a dirt bike track,
Of course it might rip the land’s skin

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