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There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
-- Robert W. Service

The Thought Police are here. They've come
To put you under cardiac arrest.
And as they drag you through the door
They

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da umre majkati

go trade