The nation as a prancing pound,
wafting affliction.
The pound itself a semblance of hard world tense.
The revolution stiffs the frocked and fallen.
The story goes ghost.
Sailing fortress of oblivion is the best obvious,
and Lenin knows.
Lenin the mark on the door,
the door marked in Stalin.
The crowd is mercy if mercy is wrong.
Right is the right of angle.
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