Shattered houses are shaken. Their eyes pierced, pricked. Their perennials, old, speckled. Their souls stolen, lost. The knees have already fallen. With belts of stones faded. With silos empty, no one attacked. With fireplaces black, but without a fire blazing. They go, they go to the next. They saved us and them for the future. They have accepted, obviously the court. Delivered - thankfully unplanned.
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From @playbox