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by pressing on a special key The morning paper's ink stains my fingers: CCCXXXIV maybe the last time, i don't know Irony is for suckers it's a crying shame, you left a trail of destruction she slides her fingers through every nerve The morning paper's ink stains my fingers: CCCXXXIII The morning paper's ink stains my fingers: CCCXXXII The morning paper's ink stains my fingers: CCCXXXI let down and hanging around Friday, May 18, 2007
you are, you conceited bastard:
--Spencer Ackerman
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