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Logged
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Take a look round lively old London. Buzzing crowds we sweat and we revel. Red-cheeked shouts and songs In the flicker of the gaslight. Eager Blighty bursts from the cobblestones. Racing, climbing blooming fertility. Born from secret seeds that were scattered in the nighttime. London is fed upon the meat of the dead. They’re one shallow inch below the town. Them that whispered dreams that only poisoned us. Them that told us lies of their bravery. Them that preached of progress, and put us in the poorhouse. Them done horrid murder on bloody stages. Them that loudly crowed their humility.
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