Where do we play; abbreviating the night; it's patches asunder, and subjects kowtowing to inky surrounds and monarchistic figureheads, hung by the sky, under chandelier tears; the shards of the ages.
As children with wisdom, nefarious never, long drawn from the depths of majestic succinctity, the entreats of entropy, serendipitous, flawless, a lacking of none, when deserving all ways, of smiles in kinship & sighs of contentment.
A city of angels, as tears to my eyes, indulging in awe; the countenance of earth.
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