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The luscious grandeur of melancholy horror trickles through my brain. Our cage has been locked, and they've thrown away the key. Our fate is set. Slow death through brain shrinkage. A drought of pure knowledge. Corrupt fingers poke at our past loves, until the written word has no meaning. Hitleresque tasks. We must follow the pied piper to our utopian facade of a destiny. Written November 15th, 2001 © on Nov 15 2001 04:59 AM PST 10 • 0 • 1
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"The luscious grandeur of ..."