Title: Optional

Text: I'm getting high and never coming down, this world is run down, ima go to outer space and come back when the sun drowns, away from these gray skies and this one cloud that follows me and rains on my dreams of what I'm trying to be, so logically, ima go to space, smoke a pound of weed, and bring along some beats in into the sky with me, ask me what my life would be without music I'd probably, tell you I'd be on the streets with the hatred in me, that's beyond belief. Each paragraph will be a test.

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