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The night is like a cutA cut of my stringsIn the great puppet art Of my dreamsI stumble around in a dazeA daze in my clumsy hazeMy limbs againMy wooden dreamsOf these great puppet artsStrings create meMy strings exceed meAs the puppeteerAs is meIn a paste of twineA chreographed lineIn dancing I would cutSuch that I as my dreams may dreamOf my great art of act of artI am a deformed muppetA snipped string clings to my armIt is still Like the nightCold in the age of space flight
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