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A note from Crash Snowdon

Hopefully you've come to expect this being next.

My nana taught my mother, who taught me
That no excuse exists for running late
A brain set to a task cannot be free
Inter the one who makes an elder wait

I face the price of running low on time
Resumed an errand after watching rail
Their operations flawless, else a crime
Analysis of rigour let me fail

Hand damaged when I fled the bridge too fast
By dangling length of fencing left to rust
Elect but fail to not repeat the past
A trickle of my blood falls to the dust

The power rests in what the clerics say
A surge, relief, he sends me on my way

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Crash Snowdon

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