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The high noon Sun chars my back,
relentlessly burning, I’m silently churning
surrounded by straw men, a brain they lack,
I am the Hay-man and they are just less than
I’ve seen their dawn, and when days turn black,
they’ll beg in vain while they’re squashed to a stain
the world in their hands, it fell through a crack,
and now for the next victims hexed.