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What Was I Talking About Again?

The fog folds over me with a pressure of intentions. Cascading through reigns and making life pain of forgetfulness. The vibrations of modern life, the vicissitudes of venting spleen. All the blank heart, blank mind stares as we come crawling over the hill in blood and dungeon - a secret letter to our oncoming demise.

The mist lingers like any good soul and steals information without so much of a fuss. Rolling in bent double on the lawns, too many people have been forgotten in a sieve-like memory. I look forward to seeing how we debate our lives with the only thing that can come good to certain practitioners - the onset of damn lies!

Wherever you feel is the best way to go, whichever you feel should be the way to common decency, we'll fall into line grouchily to see whose lamb you slaughtered. We're not the same onlookers we were yesterday. We'll have a different opinion to suit our needs. And when the time comes, I'll tell you "What was I talking about again?"

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