This ain't your daddy's blues. This is the troubling kind of melancholy, a void that sets in like a winter fog and just won't go away. Out here, in the {city'slife's underbelly, there ain't no room for hope. Just the bitter truth of it all. But there's a way out, a shortcut that takes the pain away.
Across the wide plains, where the golden glow beat down upon the thirsty earth, stand rows of alabaster crosses. They mark a history of loss, a tapestry woven with threads of courage. Beneath them, the azure dome stretches endlessly, a canvas of vibrant cerulean. The wind whispers through the tall g
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