Louis Borgo (01-06-1988 / shelby)
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True Dear Friend
I do not wish to become bibilical but this text require careful wording, what is a true friend with a kindom of wolfs and over sheperd by demons, wait is this ficition, eyes that hold shelter to black skull to a new up rising, birds that hymn that heal with whistles of love of crimes, that is all on film or maybe we all are guest, looking for gravity.
Everyman is made different so a silly superstition would say but what would true making of a man, take pain and the up most rooting of lost land, mimic it as quick sand, we start to man and fan to tans and this here eyes are a shame to cry because who is left here to a dress man but a man.
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