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They crumble under piercing rays
When rays do have their say
These buildings formed from weaker stock
That builders cut from clay

Old rooms at home are dusted clean
Beyond those empty floors
And painted with a bright new hue
On top of favored mores

Peering into glimmered night
They watch the buildings fall
And wonder at their newfound space
Though awkward, old, and tall

These homes feel like another place
Without their stiff decrees
Secured with broken locks and bolts
To still our trembling knees
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