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I travel with haste. I remain a shadow to everyone in my footsteps.
Yes it was as glamorous as it looks. And 7 hours in that snow was well worth all the attention.
A bard on the wire, a voice in the wilderness, a home page for exiles trying to get home. Everybody is an exile. Maybe artists just realise it. "Like a bird on the wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried, in my way, to be free."
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