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We’re rich, and posh, really fancy   We can afford to blow all our money   On things that were never necessary.   And then other things that we see.  
“ This heaven gives me a migraine”                            — Gang of Four                      
the stars, the sky the twinkling beetle skin home is just a memory the brick and clay the scratchy, knitted clothes the ashy air the muggy clouds the swampy ground and mire
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