The red soil was flowing like water of the gestures of cries, folk of crow waiting for its turn to hunt, yet no help, helpless and hopeless faces, the laughs of hunters, they hunted the soul and let the carcasses turn into what it was made up of. The fire was rapidly eating one by one, one after one houses of poors. The dark was coming as the light was going dim eventually. Roars of the monsters giving goosebumps to the dead, the cart of sorrows was taking an unusual load of worthless hollow corpses, out of time, out of chances, out of what's unreachable, out of words, out of ways, out of land, out of sky, out of day, out of night, out of life into the death. Yeah, another war of greed for power. Another sun was setting in the west. And I was watching it all because this is all I can do for mortality…? Define me how people grow their thoughts from the inch of
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