Integrity Score 1000
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Oh, get up, my sad Afghanistan. Sprinkle dance on your wounds.
Emptiness is bitter, it eats away at the soul. Who knows, who walks when he walks barefoot on the streets of homelessness in bloody air, or when he leans against the wall of helplessness and digs through the graveyard of memory with his finger? How will those who have been dispersed from the carefree sky and landed in the soft corners of power and wealth, find out that the blood trade afflicts the fields of hope and life of this bitter community, burns the homes of desire and the star It takes a lot of children from the sky to the slaughterhouse.