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The old man sits on a bench
Thinking 'bout how it used to be
Slowly he dozes off,
Dreaming things that we'll never see
He dreams of a time, when all the sky
was blue, not gray
He dreams of a different time,
and of a different day
He dreams when the water was not polluted,
but clear a place where you could take a splash
He dreams of a time, when the water was not
diluted with cans and bottles, and all sorts of trash
He dreams of a time when the snow would fall
so soft and white
But smoke and smog have made it now,
as black as black as night
A sonic boom now brings the old man from his sleep
He opens his eyes, smells the air, and begins to weep
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