Is your substance still in
The world grind on
Your poor imagination
While I green all alone in
Television diary’s great teat
Proud pirate industry
And keep pace with monitors
No vertical hold.
Else mistaking hours
Police misfire and this rage
Parts the dollar and there
Tongues though I was
Rational shanghai
Away and therefore
Be near if it is Tokyo
Increase green carpets
Invention to die for.
No, wind-up in your heart
Your poor stakes
Take paradise with party
Pale to lack of
Sleep.
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