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He played me like a cello soft and sweet until the finale. The high notes whined and the low notes dragged on, on, on. The finale was agonizing.
Mr. Sly, your master plan congealed; the thrill of playing the two-tier game is a flaring, formidable forcefield, are gruesome goosebumps hard to tame that fixate instinct on this path
Sly glittering eyes Feathers all around More cunning than wise Being without sound Hunter in disguise Blue fire eternal
Barack Obama Pressing munchies on the poor Feeding off us all.