Weapons are a-tumbling...
Two-pronged calligraphy hits the snow...
Neatly typed, before the tape rolls...
Looking at the peaches...
By his own pen...
The tracks pass through the snowy wilderness no more than they do the old west...
And then there is form...
Two-pronged calligraphy hits the snow...
Neatly typed, before the tape rolls...
Looking at the peaches...
By his own pen...
The tracks pass through the snowy wilderness no more than they do the old west...
And then there is form...
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