the grass so cold on the top of my hill,
their breathing boiling my blood,
their sins controlling my hands.
shaking my head as i stare down to my silver pill.
i watch them from my hill
see colors of red and gray.
now i can fly though for only awhile.
then i must return
and walk the rest of the mile
return before they look up
and see that i'm no longer
no longer on the top of my hill.
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