Broadway would stage a way, make stars sparkle, ask of Walt Whitman to give birth to aboriginal, in a version of Cats, Oscar Wilde working long before WWI, though he died, a preemie, in 1916, what’s his face Alex Jones, in long slow moans, gulping, to offer a long slow toke of a cross between sleep stokes, or aryhmia, aheimia, blotto cum glotto,
Fade Away.
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