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and the howling and the screaming and the crying, will they hear it, any of them, in their dreams? do they hear it now, do you hear it now as you pass daily by broken wrecks of once proud ships that pass for living people? do they know what living is, those so obsessed by death that all they want is more and more and more (but never of their own)? who is this god they worship, thick and vile as oil in feathers, obscene across the earth? where are the voices of the fodder for their cannons?
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