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ArtistThe blacksmith and the artist, Reflect this in their art, They forge their creativity
He belongs to a different type of scavengers: every good is already stolen, every tear already snatched, every hope is already drowned; those wandering people, too lost to group together, visit the scene of a massacre days after anything could have any sense and kick the dead horse. Where you'd think there's nothing more, there they are to be sure of it and drink the brink of such an atrocity.
