Hot
Scorching heat
Burns
Makes red feet
Sense cents sense
Home hum home
Does your sense
Make nicely cents?
Why the sky is blue
Has been a question
For generations of
Past and will be
Of the present future
We were on our way
Walking down the street
I hurried on by
I was told you were scary to meet
Cold chills running down my back
You are my savior for the things
I lack
Hot sweat falling down my face
The scent left behind I will trace
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