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The Spiders

The piercing radiant moon, the storming of poor June. All the life running, through her hair. Approaching guiding light, our shallow years in fright. Dreams are made winding, through my head. Through my head. Before, you know, awake. Your lives are open wide, the v-chip gives them sight. All the life running, through her hair. The spiders all in tune, the evening of the moon. Dreams are made winding, through my head. Through my head. Before, you know, awake. Through my head, through my head. Before, you know I will be waiting all awake. Dreams are made winding, through my head. Dreams are made winding, through my head.

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Tales from the Goths of the Earth