Dumas-père in Lotus; sounds reassuring!
Sunday forest's roots in junk; what a shame..
Little spider on my little finger,
soon water should boil for cacao.
veden fragmentteja, oceani di pietre
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Zucchero, rosso come il Crepuscolo. Neither heart nor soul can be nationalised, write this down, bastards, on yo... -
..but the Man who slept too long faces West in Lotus. Liberté, égalité, frat ern ité among the trees in winter. A bag of clothes instead of...
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