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Under the eclipse it's raining roses, a bullet train parting gravity with a sonic boom like Moses. And do you know, in the howl
of the wake, the razor line between the cyclone of madness and sane, broods a force without a say. I thought I knew what it was,
once, yet after a war and a possee of weasels with lazy guns the carnival's left town. It's all rotting tents and bitter wind,
striated memory and remember when. Vegas has the lights, yet it started with the snake.
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Under the eclipse it's raining roses, a bullet train parting gravity with a sonic boom like Moses. And do you know, in the howl
of the wake, the razor line between the cyclone of madness and sane, broods a force without a say. I thought I knew what it was,
once, yet after a war and a possee of weasels with lazy guns the carnival's left town. It's all rotting tents and bitter wind,
striated memory and remember when. Vegas has the lights, yet it started with the snake.
wtf
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 50 x 50px
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