After ten years of walking this beat, treading my fingers across keys many men scarcely dream exist, I have become hollow, incorporeal, a spectre of being once thought a man.
But now all I see is the same recurring nightmare before me. Always the same, and relentless in its onslaught of soul extinguishing horror.
Always the same maddening descant. Always destroying me inside, no matter the recurrences of it's incessant prattling.
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