Swift rains,
Dousing lanes,

Of the protesters,
Like they’re jesters,
The rain’s testers,

And when all’s dire,
They will only hire, 
Someone whose a liar,
And calling them sire,

What we see that night,
Lies, not the actual sights,
Breaking right through their might,
Finishing them, giving a fright,
Their revolution never sees light

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