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English
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18000 universes
and bow your tired head down
confessions of a data miner
disconnected catacombs
exeunt
follow me to the promenade
found it in the bright white starlight
fukushima waves
harmonies made of air
how we blew it
invisible fingers
last night at the social
last stop on the mannequin slave train
lost it in the blackened morning
on the edge of fertile territory
phantom party
sing it to the ground
sing it to the river
songs made of gasoline
spider faces
spots on the analog sunset
there lies some hope in them there hollows
this cut down tree
two movements
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