On Monday I reap souls.
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On Tuesday I hold a meeting of the management team.
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On Wednesday I summon the dispatched death gods.
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On Thursday I wear a pure-white shirt.
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On Friday I select a good necktie.
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On Saturday I watch cinematic records.
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These flawless rules must be quietly obeyed daily.
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I won't allow even a brief hair-sized disturbance.
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I discipline the foolish death gods and keep all the death records,
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as the dust-free soundless library freezes solid.
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After I've strictly finished my work, and have only loneliness to unravel,
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my firmly darkly bitterly clinging memories grow low and distant.
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On Monday there is a depressing rain.
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On Tuesday I scold the rule-violators.
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On Wednesday I kick Grell Sutcliff.
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On Thursday I work overtime.
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On Friday I retrieve souls.
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On Saturday I hunt those demon eyesores.
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I decline all the annoyingly incomplete applications,
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but the piles of problems waiting for me are extremely unpleasant.
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The endlessly pointless work and the stupid mistakes made by others
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will disrupt the balance of the aesthetics of the glass walls and ceiling.
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These unforgivable deviations, this imbalance caused by laziness,
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and my schedule crumbled, ripped, torn, and soiled... I'll have to work overtime again today.
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I complete the difficult tasks and restore the order of hard steel.
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I embrace closely my cool-headed rationality in mist's shadow.
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I'll take down purgatory's wall if there should ever be one,
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even if I might end up losing my arms, my voice, and my nails.
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That delicate clock's hands are playing music in the stillness;
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if only that clock is the god governing the entirety of my heart...
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I'll kill lives without hesitation. Grant, weave, and praise
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the balance and hope of all, in this dark world where even words glaciate,
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