Zap, Zap against the dying of the light! nostr:note1wjsjkgglr000z0jkjltsj9h9p9yqncfuq88duwrghm4amm3gwlmqm5wf3n
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Strange things are done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for zaps.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
