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Instead of warmth, the green of glass Instead of fire, smoke A day snatched from the calendar grid The red sun burns to ashes The day burns out with it A shadow falls over the burning city We cannot boast of the wisdom of our eyes Or the skillful gestures of our hands We don't need all this to understand each other Cigarettes in hand, tea on the table And so the circle closes And suddenly we become afraid to change anything
A surreal scene of decay features a smoky sunset and a dilapidated car. Tables cluttered with abandoned cups and cigarettes surround a smoky atmosphere, evoking a sense of desolation.