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It's so hard for us to operate. We're broken machines. There must be a kink in our wires, or rust in our rings. Tarnished metal and bent-up parts. You're my tin man and I'm your tin girl.
Friendship is an apple tree – In spring it sprouts its tender, green shoots With a gardener’s soft, whispering touch In summer it flourishes: Strong, brown branches clothed in a silk green garment