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It's raining, it's pouring, the whole world is mourning
the death of the sun, its light, and its warming.
Like lightning it happened. A record, I'm sure.
The death of the sun, much too premature.
Pure darkness took over, the sun stood no chance.
The storm of the century killed in a glance.
So there we all stood, wondering why,
why, oh why, did the sun have to die?
Alone in the dark now, I furrow my brow.
It has to come back, someway or somehow!
That bright yellow sunshine, those warm summer days.
A giver like that wouldn't leave us this way?
But I look up at the clouds and know that it's true,
forever they'll cry for those bright skies of blue.
It's raining, it's pouring, my sunshine's not snoring.
It bumped its head, went to bed,
and will never be up in the morning.
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