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The Clay Pits

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Each hit of the axe,
Triggers a new heartbeat.
Each dig of the earth,
Destroys my friends.

My friends are gone,
My heartbeat is increasing.
As plants disappear,
Workers are increasing.

My friends are the plants,
That grow when there is no work.
The green moss returns,
The hills become green again.

But as the sun turns the clay into dust,
I become older and weaker.
Every fire they light,
Burns me inside.

They are scarring me,
With every pit that they dig.
With every pile of clay,
Grows a new grey hair on my head.

But now the war has come,
My heart is slowing down.
My friends are returning,
But I am slowly dying.

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