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The March Of The Elephants
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The cistern burns With the sisters who learn That certainty burns with a fist The cyst of this growth The cyst of this growth Is a hope against hope that I loathe And steel myself to resist I am an animal, unprepared A club in a drawer full of silverware I'm under there and breathilly holding Her underwear is deserving a scolding. Disgrace is the color of red that you're looking for

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