Flooding
This isn't like a fighter
The power goes down to lands
The Angel looks like an anger
The view of sipping much sands
Buildings become witnesses
They bathe having some colors
Some kids feel great in happiness
It's a joke, how cold the bad is
Roses die everywhere
Mud shows his smile widely
Trees have their seat there
Roots leave a minute closely
As a big population, he cries
As some reasons, he implies
Trying to get out of high tide
Waving another way to ride
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