oozing loneliness that you and I and our flood was just a reckless game of the massacre. with my mother who danced in my head, and you what kind of music you played desperate that she walked over there. is that love in the times of anger and stereotypes of mothers and and obsessions. son and the lives of too little corroded by the life that if you want to call them disasters, our lives. that here we are robbing you and me. complications. complications.
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