The sky is congested
No remedy, no over-the-counter
The salt of my tears will have to do

Don’t look up, yonder sky
Toward the horizon, aye, flegm of ice and rain do form
The salt of my tears will have to do

The light upon us o’er
We lie beneath the no-shelter tree, dead and sagging tree
As if the salt of my tears could ever make do

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