tierra
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It slowly starts slithering its way through the land of corn
creating a momentum of fire as it rises, stretching its wings word for word
It becomes difficult for the mouth to catch up to the rhythm of my tongue
Some say she was born millions ago,
Others say hundreds.
She's here now.
We treat her like we're teens,
We don't clean our room.
We kill her children,
Lo matamos cuando quiere cariño.
