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Cold Comfort (Scrap Yard)

extreme real dream

perpetually hammering

moving pictures around

some smell of industry

don't know what's happening

something fills me up with greed

i feel cloned

yes i am homeorder forms originals

same shit a million times

equal products compete

with each other for to breathe

never leave

a stable existence

fixed fragments

of a single entanglementmaintain a constant pulse beat

close to the environment

planet me

rotation

so necessary neverending clarity

excluding any possibility

trust me

we define everything

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