just to console the living, but his tongue
was heavy as a stone inside the grave.
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while others who are new,wait stacked up on the floor.For you see: there’s a queueinside the Donetsk morgue.Death masks and private partshere are processed and tagged,cadavers on display,mere torsos, arms and legs,mouths open, nothing to say.They can no longer hearthe whistle of big guns,nor feel guilt in the nude.Outside, their blood still runsnear where they…
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