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... ound that they were scattered like clouds and smoke without a trace. The world of mortals was drunk in that year and that month without telling a ray of love and the remaining bit of infatuation. If the window is elegant, tears will fill the cheeks, and a string of strings will be played lightly to make the world drunk.
When the temples are stained with frost, I realize that the time has passed, a smear of light, pieces of red and broken shadows, lingering in the residual dream, picking u ...
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