It’s a mournful bat-filled place keeping a horse-drawn pace. Remembering the good old days, when wars still were fought in the open, with artillery, not poverty. Caverns and unstable bridges, under an eerie moon drowning in ominous colored fright, the dark depressing night. the solemn castle telling about unsound riches gathered on the poor peasant’ …

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Foresworn are the ramblings of greatness, proclaiming¬† false significance turning truth to rubbish mad explosions of anger, gesticulating, like a crazed chameleon. Shifting to please the masses. ranting on. I witnessed it that evening of 1933, the promise to Germany. The forebode of inpending doom. Rendering scapegoats to cower, humanity acted out. Acting like a …

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