November. You're cold & gloomy, tearing the leaves from their trees, tearing the daylight from the day, tearing the moments from my year.
Oh, November, you send shivers down my invertebrid spine, you stir up questions in my restless mind.
You're so smug with your quickly passing days.
Oh, to have a year without the twenty ninth, without the obligations, without the aging, cards, and cake.
Another day, another moment, another year.
Oh, November- my Judas- what you must do, do quickly.
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