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Time Zone

My heart is like the tick of a clock,
Once it starts,
You don't want it to stop.
Cutting down trees,
Is the way toward the end,
Abusing and taking,
For a dying trend.
Success always succeeds,
There's no riddle in this,
You make lots of money,
But is it real bliss?
Why is money green?
And not purple, red, or blue,
You can count it all up,
But what good will it really do?
If it rains or snows,
Or is hot or cold,
People try to imagine,
Of not getting old.
Tired of the race,
I fall back sometimes,
I continue to live,
With something of mine.

©1999-2018 Steve Bujanow

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