The Lincoln Review

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ifiers, like Time, declared that thensounds they made were music, poetry,nart, rebellion, expressions of trammeled,ninvaluable instincts. The corpses ofnthose who were trampled to death,nknifed, shot, or who just O.D.'ed onndrugs began to mark this trail of culturaln"progress." And nothing indicatesnthat it s ending.nFinally . . .

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