Hey you promised me your first-born! Biatch!
HHH? Yeah Ill meet you for afternoon tea in Trieste then...I can take the bus there, right?
*Looks up Trieste on globe*
*Dies*
__________________
We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell,
Set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell.
Into the ear of every anarchist that sleeps, but doesn't dream,
We must sing
We must sing
We must sing
I CAN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DEATH AND GLORY....
And Im so clever But clever ain't wise
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