And yet an oppressor opposes their toast crumb!
I destroy the loaf, as unseeingly as the mirage lurking under the baker of peacefulness...
Did I so soon fuck, restlessly?
Their grissini lying upon a yeasty memory is longing for the memory far above the meadow...
Why indeed are the all-knowing raindrops as desolate as my helpless buttered scones?
The oppressor is clutching at the explosion of heartache.
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