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... on,
Carves through the land, a sorrowed tune.
It flows where hope and dreams are slain,
In its wake, only shadows remain.
Red River Armaments.
Violence is Poetry."
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***
"I suggest violence," I said. That had a few of the others turning my way, so I shrugged and decided to explain. "Look, if we sit on our thumbs and spin, then we'll never get anywhere before the aliens gather enough biomass to e ...
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