In hind sight for sore eyes on the prize fighter.
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Pilot, gunner, navigator, the sky.
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The mountains luke-warm, metaphorically speaking.
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Speaking of metaphors?
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The simile is a front-runner.
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The simile lacks a blue-print.
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With an enchanting proposal, one foot led the other, congruent.
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To think your only god would flaunt you.
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To think your only god would fight you!
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Raise a frail fist at the creator.
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Scream "I want to meet my maker!" persistently the ground tends to make way for you.
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Exchange all those hats for a hairline.
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Define the cycles of existence to think and act just as we do.
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We're blasphemous separatists de-railing the trains of thought.
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Reparations for misopportunities.
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Pay some respect: the transitional currency.
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Reimbursed.
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Sleeping soundly.
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Should have soaked it all in, absorbed the pouring rains past.
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Let sheets blanket the suits so the dust can settle in sorrow.
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Last showing?
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-----------------
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The Wake
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Folly |