Magic numbers. Avoiding us!
Closed fate.
We will have None of what they feel there in the field or the dance floor.
Dusky musky inside forever.
Competitive and groups of fans and friends weaving illusions of grandeur.
Gloom existance.
Show us the King everything is prepared for him.
We make up the walls starving to death.
They are heroes with the best women.
We are worms craving a worthy existance alas...
Flat on our backs we die out like a lazy species while they reign...
Flourishing in our decline.
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