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fortune seekers
leans against the pllow in pain, pains of cultivated years wastes in vain, going to bed with everthing in trousers, not any man but those in executive trousers, that posh car ride. now posh aids ride, waiting for death to come. and death too waits for to come. years of hard work in undergraduate days, ready to compensate good coming days. now the cloud is dark. for unstoppable tears to embark, on the journey of eyelash wetting.
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