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snow is creeping down the foothills. drawn out to a cold prairie, shameless with window-lights.

created by N0b0dY

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chaos

each flake a cold kiss she brushes off look at how we fold perfectly into the night Songs from a solstice hymnal The boat dreams from the hill
Lincoln still melancholy over his broken engagement, January 23, 1841 Why I play russian roulette with five bullets January 18, 2007 It's Fred Dunderhill's Life
Walking After Midnight
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