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■ The oak
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Let us take a wild magic carpet ride.
To the other side of my psychotic mind. What lies without began within. It shows me something I can't pin. It leaves a trace A clue. A glimpse. And crosses through a thinned existance. And jumps to and fro. Fro and to. Reality, imagination. Imagination, reality. How can I trust what only I know? How can I see what's inside my soul? How can I bend the lights of this pole? Why can't I tell what's half and what's whole?
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