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can't see past my window with out a slutty cloud of population graphs. It's only indian music that youcan't
stomach with kobe beef fast food. The pace of your eyelids is frozen for me. What was I doing here way other than sleeping next to your fragmented face. Ahoy matey, this ship don't stop for Thom Sawyer and any Yes song you can hum. The cigaretteslive
closer existence to your spectrum than my eyes. No matter, I'll get my own. It's only babysitting when your not drunk. Well excuse my outer body ethnographic experience but I can't hold this plate much longer. Are we beyond this or not even close to wadding afternoons under covers polluted with Seinfeld Dvds? So Minneahaha really fell hard off the rocks and snowcapped balls. Bobby Dylan and carpacio never let that big of a stainhere.
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