Trip and fall on little things; pick up the scraps we find, glue them together and we call it life. Highest highs and the proudest things, shout out loud and to G-d we sing
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Hollowed and filled with garbage as scarecrows hung across fields of chaff. Screams become frail raspy whispers to the murder in the air. Tiny weavers pull unseen strings and the force is irresistible, intangible
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