The doors opened wide behind, the weather was cold, the bodies were wrapped on the battlefield, and we couldn't understand, condemning those who bombed the bombers, that we had given way to the bombs.
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Even though we didn't rain bombs, we were dedicated blackberries, only in places where our ownership was offered to us early in the month. We were blackbering, we were maturing, and we were becoming more blackberries.
We should have been the blackberries!
While the leaves were in pain, he preferred the convenience of saying bombs, without telling our consciousness.
Let the blood flow from the wings of the birds warm the remains of the open doors.
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The Shadow Men passed through me, the violets opened in the crocodile eggs. Violets broke the balance of nature, and mankind chose to be blackberry.
The Shadow Men have seven blackberries.
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