Hour after hour the flock of fools grows. Every single person will be many. The fair of madness is rampant and constantly changing. The chef and the crazy bird are already sorting the ingredients of the following excess while the gnolls are still working on wired constructions.

And when an hour-less time later everything is over, only the lonely jester dances in the fog. He takes off his hat and says goodbye to every flower, every laugh, every shed tear, every thrown confetti and every dissolved memory.

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