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| I wonder if the splinters on my back has healed. | |
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| Me too. Did you want me to check for you Lord Jesus? | |
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they smell like sweet tulips,
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| No, I just want you to love me for who I am. The Son of God. | |
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on top of a rotting corpse in a trunk of a Los Alomos rental near Pasadena, Tejas.
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| Stop copycat-ting me you visceral pesticide. I'm surrounded my morons. | |
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| Tis true. Love can be a foregone conclusion. Let the greasy Mexicans riot. | |
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