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On The Reason You Turned The Machine On To Your Head

``````````````` and you got this gun scene right again, try again
once you come up with something different from falling tires
and dried-up dens trying to fit in on darkly arched arc ovens
with red hate-trace and tip-toed bullethole vests and sink
slowly into deep, soft sleeps and open and suture and close a set
of closed-eye openings and half- and whole-hearted pure
gunshot wounds````````````````

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