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Sergio
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Wet/hate hands admitted, and... Through dead nails, All splitting sand... Underneath it's strychnine Winds that change are never seen, Beasts that back to the wall and cry, Best of the hopeless never die. For gods' sake forget to speak, Miles of what you've got to eat... Terminal, the playgroup says, Off to the side with an average, Blaming the dolls like heretics,


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