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The Car
  It’s strange
  The car
  A machine made by man
  That murders men
  Take the car I sit by
  As I speak my sobering tale
  The brakes seemed to fight
  Until they stop and fail
  I watch the bodies
  Cold and limp
  (Or so they seem
  From where I stand)
  Being pulled out
  Of the opposing cars
  I watch my mother
  Sobbing as she claims
  “She’s too young!
  It’s not to fair!”
  I watch my body
  Cold, limp, lifeless
  Pulled out of the crumpled machine
  Dead as a stillborn child

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