the lost dream

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The Lost Dream

No one left to talk to. No one to listen. A boneyard of lost years and blind alleys. Crazed eyes trapped in bodies.

Echoes in a landscape without boundaries, haphazard stabs at salvation. A frantic last stand, spinning straw into ugliness behind a thin membrane of opulence, waiting for the knife.

Drivers, start your engines.

Fifty laps around the lost dream.

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