I'm from the city with everything you see; with its noise, with its people, consume old age.
I can not avoid the smoke that enters today, but I still grow, I am another coal.
I will not imagine the pain in others, buy air and if it is pure payment much more.
I will not tolerate that you no longer have faith, that you lower your arms, that there is no lucidity.
I'm flying around and I'm convinced to go. I go whistling and without rancor and I'm out of pain.

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The Ancient Brewery

In the dimly lit corner of the dilapidated brewery, the old brewmaster toiled away amidst the hissing steam and clinking metal. A solitary ...

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