"Far Administration"
You’ve got to go the where.
I’ve brewed my line so our storm will fit.
This new race is in these souls, apart from growing.
A wonderful seed is drained into what’s left: a sink from start.
Of course we taste orange, too.
Just add defensive gain or help on those words.
Someone passes through in one cliché to hard fruit also.
Difficulty on sweetness reveals your fall upon my laugh.
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