The text is

Citizen Zhang Chang is here

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It's on the ground.

It's written to the old world after learning of the execution.

A farewell letter.

Candidate 1 Chang Chang

The dream is the death in plain clothes, and the night arrives as promised, and every soul is tortured. If death is an equalist party, the dream is the Nebrongen ring for the living.

People become alienated and self-deceptive, as if with their own deformed hands, twisted joints, rough tortoises with pink fingers on their backs, comforting with it every inch of skin, body and soul. Just as the noble monks of the ancient times who recited the Book of the Buddha, the dark red light of the age and age, and the touch of the warm, delicate and clear, made the collectors mad, but they lost the purest of the purest, unmade colours.

And wood is also in this world woven with three thousand troubles, for which he knows well. He knew that only by lying to himself could he survive the deceptive world. More precisely, it is only by twisting one ' s own mind that one can acquire what is called a living courage. As in the final battle between Death Note and L, self decapitation will always be the last ink of man's lacquer under the reaper of death.

So did Kim himself, hypnotized himself, separated himself and created himself. He's aggressive, motivated and courteous. He learned knowledge and culture. He became him. He made him. He's him.

It's actually very cunning. It's so clever to try to get across the sea. Like the restricted NPC in the game, trying to determine its own way of acting, finally escapes the small world of the game, Wood struggles the same way. He added a Switch, a door to his true self, a far more real illusion than reality.

In the middle of the night, as reason gradually drifted away with the disappearance of consciousness, Kim went home. In the depths of the soul, the old house of memory is sealed with broken walls, and when the wood enters, the pavilions, the lights are coloured, like the pyrotechnic alleys. The twilight twilight, with the fragments of memory pushing the knee long enough to talk about the groaning red ocean on the other side. Time passes by thick and thin. Time and space have specific rules here.

The first Electromagnetic Wave in the morning torn the world apart, and the wood had not yet been able to leave its friends before it had been able to quell in every tremor in the air.

The wood opened its lazy eyes and began a new day's journey, which left behind a mark called a dream. Like sand in the hand, it's getting blurred.

Wood is not afraid, wood is drunk in dream hunting, hunting. This is the only story of Kim's encounter with someone else.

The world of dreams is empty. There is still a resonance in the cold, but in the sleep.

Wood, who are these logs?

Wood, and who's the real wood?

The two trees that were raised by the sunset, who was it on the left? Who was it on the right?

Dream, what are you?

Where the hell are we?

Woodwood, and Woodwood.

Maybe it's just Lindsay, and Wood never showed up half his face...

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