Here and there, under the porches of ruined filling stations, in the gaping doorways of office buildings, lie heaps of human bones.
Thee shall each alehouse, thee each gillhouse mourn.
The drums changed and the Houngenikon came dancing on to the floor, holding a vessel filled with some burning liquid from which sprang blue and yellow flames.
Heartache schmartache, I don't want to gay-marry you, oh sizzling Sapphite.
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