These long days that don't quite end
prolonged with little tweaks
finessed around the bend
but it does not profit
and I feel all lost
And soon come the short days
perpetual frost
400 parts per million
Some saying it's all she wrote
nothing's ever that simple
but those words stick in my throat
and I said a hundred thousand times
there's the end of that
What's next
but these small hour cards
turn up again
and I'm every bit as vexed
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