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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2009-08-04 | | I drink myself from the cup where blood is recycled for rent in a taxidermal lighthouse broken and lonely she sits on a wooden table where others wait for the musical drug to get out beneath the skin whispers injected with anger lick our hearts and a musty brain leaks from the skull frozen birds fly in my stomach
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