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| Let your imagination run free with the fingers of growth i would say run if i had the ears sideways, forewards, and threw the roof overhear the loud niose of silence upon the floors of unwasted youth! Love is only a pie that gets baked when the moon sets half past the west, deep into the green which is home. yoda?yaddle?fiddle faddle paddle waddle daadle daddle oingo boingo strum the drum feel the beat beat the heat! don't remember to banjo dogs with pogs? none such would be accepted ... |