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Leaves

 This simple instrument makes proletariat lifestyle. Work you rays inside, factory finds right components. Trees fashion a tidy intimacy of production involving just transmuting sunlight into energy for growth and plug, exegesis of wow mode. Life generates death but with vital esteem that might run amok. What to be done with the discards when used up. Will the map fill with remembered objects and o-bla-dee voices? Conclude the life cycle by not stopping. Let leaves begin to moulder, let your fund fund. Winking lush fabulous gush of monetary spoonful applies to straight cycling of industrial merch. You look at leaves on the ground. Ground and sky are same. Death adjusts.


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