There are moments on and off, wake up calls and reminders, soft lullabies and gruesome shouts of groan, baby girls to be born in a space near the clouds and baby boys dead carcassess' beaked out by vultures in a dire soil, illusions of control and delusions of power, next to kin descendants and the last one of the kind...however, the near-sighted sense of immanent meaning does not transcend the futile pervasion of stranded absit omen...that is the bovver.
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