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MASTER
It it is it it, issuance since the beginning :
A rock, or a tree , a landmark of some kind, placed in respect for a departed good hearted member of mankind, deceased in the crease of death, we bequeath upon him her, a tomb stone, to be placed over their bones, when you are physically no more, on this you're painting does scores, Master!
Thank you Master!
What, we, see is in you, is a more directional sophistication of societal spectrums of life, that, like a magnet have now drawn your attention,
appealed to you to pursue, and we like it too! What? What we see is the foundation of our intersecting cemeteries, four of which we see here, with their gray cold burial stone sticking out of the dirt of our earth, in rows : after rows, and rows, from horizon to the next bending their necks around in circles, intersecting in the center, around a dark brown dark fathomless hole full of black molds, looking up at us, as we look down at them, asking us : "When are you coming? . . When are you coming? . . . When are you coming?
And, to us your choice of background picture, tells it all! It replies : like a tiger, mounted high on a running horse, holding on to him with his out stretched bloody claws, clamped around his neck, as he goes about riding this horse, through the country sides of man bringing word of the news, The Nuclear war is coming, The Nuclear war is coming ! Patience, the war is coming it won't be long! Breach, ye each in The Force Master
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