[Audio: fumbling noises. In the background there is noise. Nothing really discernible or recognizable, just confusing noise. If you listen close enough you can hear voices talking, but you might dismiss those as inconsequential. The audio is a little fuzzy]
It stopped.
But I don't think it's gone. I don't think I killed it... I had to go so
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I don't. like it. I want out.
I'll call Her...
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Please. I wish you would.
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She won't answer me. Why?
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She doesn't answer the call.
She goes where she has to. We all do. We have to do what we have to do.
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I'm trying. It's bad. It hurts...
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I know. I know. I'm trying.
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I just.
"Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
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"Th-though wise men... wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had... because their worse forked no lightning they."
The rest... Tell me the rest.
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They...
"Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Delirium?
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"W-wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night."
yes?
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Please come back...
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I'm trying.
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Who are you... ?
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You know me.
I can't tell you when I'm inside. It hears me.
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Just. Sound like. Something.
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I sound like lots of things.
Is that why it doesn't like me?
It hurts...
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