The Haze

It’s a hazy shade of winter:
Just in the wrong climate and an innocent country;

The haze engulfs the nation in a sort of darkness
As shell-shocked (non-red lightning) members look on helpless;

Millions have been spent but the shroud continues to envelop
Without a chance for the common man in the street to protest;

The streets are quiet with a sort of expectancy
Waiting with little patience for skies to turn blue again;

Yet the haze goes on and the rants rave on.

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