#0107. Look down upon what you have wont become and this first step is what drizzles out into the world all piecemeal and debutante and ballgown lengths to fit a feral little stamp. The head of it burrows dead and deep or deep and dead and those bugs crawl and saunter through a tiny little Wonderland of their own accord. I followed the tracks in prison. I followed to where the Angel lay so still and carried up that soul. I was stitched together on Charlemagne's Birthday.
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