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The spinning top seemed like it would never drop
The table wobbled
But it spun so fast it barely toppled
Christmas Day spent on the train
The lonely boy was content with the rain
Out the window there are strokes of smoke
Aligning the tracks down in the tunnel below
It did not matter if there was no snow
The war has stopped
The lights glow
The smell of petrichor squeezed through the window pane
Inhaled by the boy who knows no pain
Dozing off on the leather seats
His jacket crinkles as he slouches down
The spinning top falls
Rolling down the car
Caught by the boy and met with a frown
Held in his hand tightly
A reminder of a life taken so lightly
get dem degrees mudda moonicorn
hot pockets make me happy