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Dommage
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Isn’t that sweet, isn’t that too sweet?
(A shithole)
All at once, no peanut
That’s tough
I’m sorry that we don’t measure up to your way of thinking
Heavy, she said. The only trouble with America, it spoils the women
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death…