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Spy of high, its a poor's Cry Spare the Honest ,do not Pry   Don't You know it hurts so bad when my blue bird just can't fly   talk to the nobles, say my sigh i am so naïve, don't know to get by
There's someone (a man I assume) on the tracks texting and looking around. Does he know I'm watching him in his gross-looking grey flannel that looks like something I would have worn in the winter of ninth grade?
Our lasting words written in code The internet becomes our new home Interconecceted for better and for worst The hateful words we type and curse We succumb to a wealth of knowledge 
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