Under the lamp, your hands are busy
They
Two crabs occupied food
They raise
And their shadows glide on the plate
Again arise
And their shadows s' There glue
Under the lamp, white, raw
Our faces cut
Figures tired of foreign income
too far
Maybe
And all the bare end of the journey
What should we What lie not exhausted
Diamondback
We have missed? We dine in silence
Actually
is the silence that we eat
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