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Screams Of Lightning

In the land of Neverbelive, I felt sorrow creep into me at the sight of death, which was as cold as Antarctica.

In the land of Neverbelive, I stroked a ginger tabby cat which was purring as loud as waves crashing on the Crystal Castaway.

In the land of Neverbelive, I heard screams of lightning crash on a whistling tree as I tried to holding my breath in the whale-highway.

In the land of Neverbelive, I cautiously watched a venomous, harmful cobra glide over the Golden Gate Bridge.

In the land of Neverbelive, I imagined my future as unsuccessful as someone could be in this world.

In the land of Neverbelive, I flipped the pages of ancient books as unpopular as British Prime Ministers.

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