life has become lackness of death, death monotones of…crying in hands. i’m filled with the dust of…clutching the fist of my blood. the crawls gathering to the field of freedom, the northern brighten sun has rained the generation of hope. hail the tunes, the times of people who fight the unrevealed authorities…gathering all my thoughts and cables of love…i stand to hold his words for me. tell him he’s dead…why comprehend his dead as it faded…bounded souls that may cry...
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