And the basket had two eggs (shellacked, lacquered, hens). Pins drop inside a rainstorm of pins. The chorus sings puncture. Tongue out with thirst and feet of stone. Drowning in the puddle, I still know how to swim. Stand on my hands and look to the sky.
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And the basket had two eggs (shellacked, lacquered, hens). Pins drop inside a rainstorm of pins. The chorus sings puncture. Tongue out with thirst and feet of stone. Drowning in the puddle, I still know how to swim. Stand on my hands and look to the sky.
THIRTY JANUARY TWO-THOUSAND-TWELVE
-THE WRITERS
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