The sun is moving the roofs,
they vibrate with the lights
Shimmer to the rhythm of the heat,
they make you believe it
Above a certain temperature
it seems possible, to some degree
Things warm up and lift up,
as if they were fata morgana
And you wish you could fly, too
spread your wings, and take off
Ride a thermal spiral up to the sky
and look down, hovering upon high
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uǝɥʇɐǝɥ
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