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THE HANGING HAZE OVER THE WESTERN AWNING
In a mind, the scene,I ate the fond scent, that timeless scheme; there the blood pond; winding up a scream. On the highway, the caress, our hunger, a sight of great regret; when time found life; here the water mirrored down the hair of the dogs.
The western haze; a hanging bubble machine; overtoned haze; the bringing of the hemispheres; lost bound, great operation; over the hanging haze.
First in the dogs of war, the steel, we searched for prosperity, is their simple similar reminder, when emotions fought death. Into the existence, the air molded, they consumed the kind touch, the never ending hole in the sky; this spirit sea, running up the void.
The western haze; a hanging ring master; underwater gaze; the catching of the bones; find around, small slumber; over the hanging haze.
The red silence of black golden fears, it wilted in the melting morning sun, talked down by the wind exploding; it wiped the stain, to obtain, the fame; the game.
ROX ON A SUNSET STRIP
On the moving pictures of a gallery; woven edges of tight razor images. Orange, purple, and silver cross the streams of contacted concrete, blazing the meadow. The placement of chains wrapped around the air, the smooth fences.
Throughout the dancing frames by a pinball; creeping wedges to loose dull interests. Black, white, and gold, stumble over the sea of juggling judgments, building the mountain. Their replacement of tears and sweet sweat, robbed into the ground, of rough defenses.
Rox on a sunset strip; early warning, distant defeat, rox on a sunset strip; the spirit was made in vain; the error made real, the loins devour the souls; the mind made imaginary.
Told to, by ghost guarded keepers; the gate to bitter sweet mysterious misery. The clock struck 12, the ball and chain laid down the
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