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A.F.I. - Story At Three
Again and again they blend into one, My father the morning pushes through moonlight love. So what's sleep? sleep. We're awaiting. We are the wakeful, wry, watchful. I'm tired, so tired, but it seems that there's someone here with me. Deathless ones. A story at three with the shrillest of cries. I hear the morning choir sing to me their elegy. They sing to me their elegy. requiem. So beautiful. My mind fights with the sparkles in the corner of my eyes.
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