you will not at all ages love what i love.

a man returns from war playing a poet and has written on scraps he could find of the monotone of bullets. there is no one understand. he'd be better for worlds as merely the tool he's made. it does not repeat or end. if you what he what the make of kill and be told words as written shoots. end in the end the end ends eventually empties the magazine of words after word of log logo in logos the black and white cut is ulteriorly the blues and the tool made man or monument the only kit is a guns and blues guitar.