How can some people live without fiction?
Can't they see it's beauty? Here it's melody? Taste and smell it's succulence? Or do they themselves choose to be dampened like the graves of this cruel world?
How can some people live without fiction?
Can't they see it's beauty? Here it's melody? Taste and smell it's succulence? Or do they themselves choose to be dampened like the graves of this cruel world?
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