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107 the​ages’​years:​a​dialogue Windows​are​streaked.​Sky​must​be​autumn​green. The​days’​levels​have​lowered​to​a​stream where​tigers​seldom​drink.​“I​know​a​team of​autumn​revelers,​whose​hands​are​seen in​traces​everywhere​the​nighttime’s​been.” Take​me​out​of​my​room,​where​each​new​scene has​sulked​across​the​ceiling​in​shadows. Take​me​out​to​the​autumn​world,​to​roam outside​the​legs​of​roaming,​outside​home. ...

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