His needs met but not exceeded, the heedless possessor chooses a return policy of oxidation. The vessel, though not beyond reclamation, will steadily concede to the sea’s great mire.
Now our boys and girls take flight on rusty bicycles. Will we be cured? I cried And he: We have no tryst with destiny.
My hands like yours are stained with the juice of the pomegrante. Please don’t ask for my address. I am in and out of Bengali market.
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Now our boys and girls take
flight on rusty bicycles.
Will we be cured? I cried
And he: We have no tryst with destiny.
My hands like yours are stained
with the juice of the pomegrante.
Please don’t ask for my address.
I am in and out of Bengali market.