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From the midnight sun where the something something soft your fields so green can whisper tales of gore of how we calm the *screaming* TIDES OF WAR something something ooooOOOOOOoooooOOOOOOooooooooords. *screaming* ON WE SWEEP WITH THRESHING OAR OUR ONLY GOAL WILL BE THE WESTERN SHORE! Post a comment in response: |
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