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In my backyard, when I was young,
my best friend was a stick.
Trey taught me that viciously hitting
each other was exciting. With a sword
like the wind I was quickly running
a creation by our wild imagination.
Using our vigorous imagination,
back when we were young,
our dogs would go suddenly running.
When they saw there was a stick
in each of our hands. A sword
with which we were unkindly hitting.
Hard we were dangerously hitting,
killing monsters with our vicious imagination
blankly using the homemade sword
like we all did when we were young.
Held in a hand, a stick
while for our lives we were seriously running.
While we were happily running
for our lives, we were harshly hitting
using our sticks
and my uncontrollable imagination
I was immortal, when I was young,
the backyard, myself, and my youthful sword.
Using my sword,
while I was surly running,
when I was young
and my brother, I was hitting.
Using my murderous imagination
I always won with my stick.
With my stick
I have slain monsters with my sword.
Using my heroic imagination
I was never board, running
In my backyard, hitting
Trees, when I was young.
I call back the days when I was young, and still pick up a stick.
The trees I am still hitting, with my carved sword.
I still love running, with the monsters of my exploding imagination.