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Come, every frustum longs to be a cone,
And every vector dreams of matrices.
Hark to the gentle gradient of the breeze:
It whispers of a more ergodic zone.
-- Stanislaw Lem, "Cyberiad"
One toke over the line, sweet Mary,
One toke over the line,
Sittin' downtown in a railway station,
One toke over the line.
Waitin' for the train that goes home,
Hopin' that the train is on time,
Sittin' downtown in a railway station,
One toke over the line.
The
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