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Rippling Hill innovators, swing from gum of rainforest trees, we're thinking here of monkey men, I question the druthers of motion monkeys, and then I'm using their stuff, taking spare parts away, as if I live here, indef, the omnipotent bookcase is full of death, who needs the dust? I stick my nose to the window, with the key the cleaner rearranges, substitute that photo for this, in turn Moirai, and the kiss of the constellations.
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