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There is a plight of ambience so serene, so somber, and an apathy of faith in the canvas the pigeons are brewing their nonchalant views in. A hollow siren of broken cages all discrete and echoing of chambers-- of cups broken and coffee spilled. What would the barbaric man think of you master? A puppet disguised as a puppeteer, or a silent whimperer too cruel, too wondrous, too white to be a connoisseur of a life well lived, in a city of capes and mystic drapes? The buildings decorated in blue Christmas lights showering meaning to existence-- so surreal it is, and so cautious, so provocative. How lifeless the mannequins disguised as humans, crowd the cities and streets, with roles of aversion giving a life lesson of empathy. Can you see the violence that exists in the empty halls of the room filled with the void of malevolent peace, where a circuit of archived destinies and epiphanies create a filthy love for systems...