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[_snuffy]

You can make a plan, carve it into stone, like a feather falling that is still unknown. until the clock speaks up, says it’s time to go, you can choose the high or the lower road. you might clench your fist, you might fork your tongue, as you curse or praise all the things you’ve done. and the faders move and the music dies as we pass over on the

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[_snuffy]

because it kept fucking up

[__memphis]