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Bleach-white with innocence, his little genie tries to convince him:It's about what inside; stop listening to that scarlet-clad midgetBut to his surprise, for once they are agreeing: It is all about what's inside
The sound surrounds me thus superfluous movements consume the proximity. Supercilious proxies place themselves above me like an Aurora of boreal proportions, unorthodox luminescence provide unimaginable distortions.
Our language is immortal, Written on our graves   Accessed through any portal, It is as countless as the waves 
I let myself smile a big unfamiliar feeling goofy smile because the words are pulsing out of me. Pushing out and then when they make it to the surface, slipping like raindrops down down
Days like these
The width of a smile is proportionate  To the woman's disconsolate heart 
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