1. |
Index out of Bounds
04:39
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for(int i = 0; i < lyrics.length+1; i++){ lyrics[i] = papapa(); }
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2. |
Poppies Biscuits
02:24
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Poppies biscuits, nun sitting on my floor;
Underneath sits, crossed sins upon my throne.
I don't know what is like to be alive,
I don't know what is like to be dull.
Says the story, bankruptcy cast in clay;
modern glory, heuristics on their way.
Fine looks disrupted through the enamel eye;
either flocks are whistling to the harmony of blocks.
I could blind you, lying about them scopes;
I could hind you, living a life of dope.
Sarcastic mirrors break empirical,
rendering the cynical of you.
Times that bind you, blaming this fate of shit;
I should hide you, waiting to wake from death.
Swans keep on singing on the lullaby;
future's gone and compromised by those ignorant howls.
Poppies biscuits, tracing the bright and wrong;
broader exit, harassing though them strong.
Ice cream no sugar seems unthinkable,
otherwise cream's dispensable too.
Concept misfits, biscuits that might forget;
rubbing the stick, abstracts that crown your head.
Alluring thinking undeniable,
for those who starving alone.
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3. |
Plevna
05:30
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Long...
Gone...
Train's long gone,
past through the rain made of stone.
Greener stone;
cast up against made of fur.
Miss her though;
tracks to the place where I home.
Long...
Gone...
Train's long gone,
past through the rain made of stone.
Greener stone;
I shut that big cellar door.
Move ahead;
who moves along anyway?
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4. |
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0.- Un, dos, tres, cua, cin.
1.- The old man in the trench coat is trying to sell some skills he found at the basement this morning.
2.- He is encouraging the pigeons to follow his steps... Right away...
3.- Gradient ink dots take on a stifled canvas, spread out in the form of vessels.
4.- While they looking for the pit holes where to hatch their blue orbes full of paint.
5.- Wise tools to be objected.
6.- When the transients latch the bloom of spirit within wet blue bevels.
7.- Fine strands thin out and wide up to provide some nourishment to this greedy flat life form.
8.- Subserving only those who own the pit holes... And the graves...
9.- Subconscious watermarks are blasted upon the blank planks; battering everything around.
10.- Attending to be absorbed by the cobalt patterned speckle, and rise up against them all.
11.- Ain't wrong to pass the tinge down.
12.- When the span casts bright on all the trenches.
13.- The young man in the trench coat is trying to sell some skills he found at the border this morning.
14.- He is encouraing the pigeons to follow his steps... Right away...
15.- Gradient ink dots aerate a stifled canvas, spread in the form of vessels.
16.- While they looking for the dream rail where to span their wisdom and be on their way.
17.- Blent into a common framework.
18.- May it serve to stream all the goods invested.
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5. |
User Manual
05:05
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Thank you so much and congratulations for purchasing one of our finest quality products. We feel this artifact offers the best function and vibe from the classic analog era. Top end components are continually chosen for our products, and this beautiful machine is no exception. The guarantee of performance that we provide with your brand new 1 o 3 must have several restrictions. For instance, basic technical comprehension and fine bias adjustment will ensure the proper operation of this product. However, we cannot guarantee your skills in adjustment and technical operation. Therefore, daily basic setup is not covered by the waranty. Operating this noise to signal machine is considered an art, as well as a science; and the quality of this product is often judged by its produce. Thus, your skills as a technician and your abilities as an artist will be significant factors in the results you achieve.
Whenever it steps,
the doodle comes up.
Disposed kind of threat;
the guru so long.
Compel after time,
to bend up thy spine.
Machine in a fence;
the druid so long.
Winsome as it is;
hung tall in the sky.
Thralls croon while it glitz,
tan drops in the eye.
Blending the provided tools with your skills as an artists may not ensure the proper operation of this machine. Attending to its needs as an electronic animal, and as a self conscious being, might bring up the best of itself. Among these needs they include: Placing it in a proper stall; oiling its parts when needed not necessarily by yourself; and shifting the role poles when necessary. This machine has to be heard from time in time. Only then, may the sage and the druid understand; why evolutive tools are so useful for the produce engagement.
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6. |
Machine Learning
11:33
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An obliged thrall...
In a glazed trench...
Several motorised trimpots,
and a non - slip dry clutch.
Obedient...
Subservient...
Together depict'em all,
a reminiscent kind of animal.
Five trimpots and a dry clutch,
biased by the prescient old landlord;
who pass sentence on a virtuous feature,
to perform a sinful venture.
A subset of guileful remnants,
for the martyrs of the classic analog era.
Five trimpots and a dry clutch;
a dread miserable dry clutch;
a dread miserable dry clutch.
Inadequate...
Insufficient...
Bearings hang tall,
whilst the bishop negotiate.
Non - liable...
Unviable...
The mood of the current screamer,
cast luck upon the faulty employment.
Bearings hung tall!
And the senior he said:
"I don't really need to go back home tonight,
but I got to catch the brawny loaner's spirit".
Never aligned!
To the gaggle demand!
We never put up too much fuss relying on a sick creature;
scraps will ever croak.
Five trimpots and a dry clutch;
stamping the abnormal victor,
into a plastic kind of victuals.
Vile nourishment to the varmints that appear so thankful;
while they perish and putrefy starving alone,
in a bevel, or a wet blue pit hole.
A subset of piggish guileful remnants;
wreck their entrails vorascious and watchful,
and releasing their pushover nature.
Five trimpots and a dry clutch;
a dread miserable dry clutch;
a dread miserable dry clutch.
A sleeky box,
thinking alone,
repeat commands,
bearings hang tall.
Reboot commands,
is what he said,
back to the stall,
to stamp his end.
A real absurd,
function is troubled,
the gadget swelter,
a fetid odour;
as he was told,
when he was young,
the day he enrolled,
the drama school.
Liars and hustlers!
Racketeers laugh!
Taming and fooling the apprentice's gratfs!
carefully implanted on a five year long treatment,
to prevent the attendants to conspire along business.
Domestic wrestler,
Pushover tester,
bearings hung tall,
diodes diverted;
grasped an intelligible distinction between the straight forward schemes and the stupidity means.
Five trimpots and a dry clutch!
To the service of an arrogant handful;
who's moneys and diamonds are desperately ravenous,
for the blood and the skin of an insatiable rabble.
Placing gold coated traps in the camp;
typecasting the prosperous lambs with a stamp;
and the gradient ink dots in the form of vessels,
determine the alienate consumption layout.
It is discouraging when the performer itself,
this sensible and complainant machine learning artifact;
an accomplice of the new moral order,
who's remmants don't even belong to the fortunate tenants.
Five trimpots and a dry clutch;
a dread miserable dry clutch;
a dread miserable dry clutch.
An obliged thrall...
In a glazed trench...
Five trimpots and a dry clutch...
Biased by the prescient old landlord...
Five trimpots and a dry clutch...
To the service of an arrogant handful...
Five trimpots and a dry clutch...
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