I love the smell of a cold, rainy night so brittle, the air freezes in my nostrils It’s sobering in a way with my lamp on and I, with my head poking out my window a great time to smoke But I quit last week The music of the raindrops will suffice The moisture turns the estate into wetlands I can smell the earth three stories high It’s consoling in a way With my record playing and I, sitting here writing this poem.
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