The deep hole that is the world state, if I knew the half of it, could I possibly sleep, or would I have to pull out the hit list, and whatever else fills a cup, should I keep going, say your piece, this is just a recording, someone from the night shouldn’t be speaking, but alas, for humanity and our existence, art has always been rejoicing, singing songs, and solving riddles, maybe I was never good at those, but strings pull and pilots land planes, chicken strips, and whatever else fills a cup, for the eternal song will echo out forever, and possibility has consumed so much of it…

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