huge disorganized paper is doing a bad job of explaining the ideas bouncing around inside my cranium. perhaps we could just install a window, so you'd know how it all makes sense to me. or maybe that was the point of writing.
also, the ballad of inappropriate gifts and undeserved trust breaks into a new and more awkward time signature. time to wrap this piece up, bawdy without being convincing, i don't want any flattery i didn't earn. empty empty empty, please say this isn't the best i can do
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