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Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.
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It fits. 16 May 2009 | 23:26 Cold and empty nights wet and dreary after a day of gray and rain are condemning knocks on my hallow walls. A single bulb in the center of the room hanging head-high from exposed wire casting deep, dark shadows across the water-stained walls and dimly reflected in the dirty puddles drowning the floor. Inside, a man with his back always turned and his head hung low. It's every cliche that fits...but that's just it. It fits.
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