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Seasons: The Mask MAG
People always talk about my mood swing.
I pull the crystal veil over your face.
They run from my chill, but it's just a fling.
This is a race; you must keep up my pace.
I pull the veil, your lush green hair revealed.
My tears sprout growth, the dormant earth awakens.
Love will soon take flight, it has been concealed.
So short-lived, as the ferocious sun bakes.
My cool breath soon blows on long summer dreams.
Your hair falls out, how evil can I be.
Your face is morphed; you're ready for my schemes.
What you don't know, that was the last of me.
For you are warming, I only ask how.
I must say my good-byes, at least for now.