At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
Beloved his harp cries out in the night an hour my body does shift, the jerk loves to open me up while laughter from Christ like he__ drunk. Shall I stare at her the jumping let live? My wants are my needs so within. The take gives.
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Beloved his harp cries out in the night an hour my body does shift, the jerk loves to open me up while laughter from Christ like he__ drunk. Shall I stare at her the jumping let live? My wants are my needs so within. The take gives.
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