set fields to the that fire
2013-03-10 | 5:19 p.m.
This brass key cannot escape The fine tooth comb of familiarity. It won't open but one door And I won't go back there. I ran as fast as I could with eyes closed, Letting that caterwaul rise From bowls to boughs. Not one voice has settled the wake That rocks me out to sea, Like a naked babe Set free.
work on your management skills
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synergy
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The Man
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