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Oh: even when you run to the South of the city: there is danger! |
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For the North of the city shall enlarge and renew its CLAIM onto you |
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And the blonde lionesses with their leather-pleated dresses |
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Are in a state of shock and wonder, |
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For the messianic complex has settled upon your forehead |
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As the lion does leap up the dew. |
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Preacher's at a cold wedding, |
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PREACHER'S AT A STREET WEDDING, |
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Laying down the shroud-like bedding: |
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But do you really love this place? |
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And your penchant for drugs shall ensure that you will always |
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Love this place, |
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And your penchant for drugs shall surely end in something close to ruinous |
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You don't need Cassandra to gaze over the edge |
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Deep-boned readers and community leaders all notice the stumble in your gait, |
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Do you really love this place? |
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You don't need Cassandra to gaze over the edge, |
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But you do need to get yourself out of the doom of this zone; |
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For there is nothing mystic or storytelling about this zone. |