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Down and out, it can't be helped but there's a lot of it about.
With, without. And who'll deny it's what the fighting's all about?
Out of the way, it's a busy day, I've got things on my mind.
For the want of the price of tea and a slice the old man died.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Story Bones

Our songs reached to the heavens before the rockets closed the stars and shook the skies. Our gods can no longer hear us. Now only the shaman can traverse the trecherous ways to take our pleas to the old ones. We are forsaken children, but we are not defenseless.

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