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They chatter on insanely,ghosts in my headwho blame meandI look out throughwhitewashed eyeswithrosy cheeks andlisten to the liesthey tell, They sell me hell inno depositno returnglass bottles,which you cannot burn. But I can see him up abovesending telegrams to me allfilledwith hope and love andhe can shove them wherethe sun don’t shine, I hold on…

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