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Cincinnati, Flight 797 - Down
Bracing for impact.
As the plane nosedives slower;
It seems when in truth,
It is two hundred
Forty-five miles an hour.
Will god please help us?
But it seems he is
Off the clock, on a lunch break.
The smoke poured out and
I can't see my own
Two feet. I could not breathe as
We felt the impact
Tremor through us, like
We had run out of time, and
I did not make it.
Daddy digs my grave;
He wipes his tears on his sleeve,
And lays flowers down.
Wishing he had not
Let me go with my mommy.
She had made it though,
He still blames her for
The crash and my life. Listen,
Daddy... it'll be okay.
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