Some Kind Of World
What reason justifies the human existence?... Would it be destiny?... Is there a purpose?... No matter what people think, no matter what people do, the only reason that outcomes our sorrow existence is ourselves… We are toilet bugs fed by destruction, chaos, manipulation… by an intellectual meaning! The perfection of things is damn obvious… The dawn of imperfection rises upon us! Nonetheless, the opportunity of being able to sustain an opinion… Worth EVERYTHING… It feels good to be!
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