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I am thinkin' of traveling to frame a rock from the cliff where Mark sees the Mos Eisley space port.

When once we determine our souls we sell,
What is it we become, a beast of hell,
To the world of truth,
Only a, hard, facade of science, we tell,
---
Nooo! stop this, hop scotch rhythm of spell.

Nobody told me, So, in adequate formal n-etiquette, So no need to particularly pay respect ultra atomic standard time.

J Wade fan page. 1. 151105. Corvette