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About Phoenix

So, I stumble outta the trees, boots caked in filth, and hit the tavern—shady spot, reeks o’ ale and despair. There she be, a wench with eyes like stolen stars, leanin’ on the bar. “Thou art a thief,” I mutter, “stealin’ me breath like Cobb nabbin’ secrets!” She smirks—ooh, that got me riled! Cheeky tart, playin’ me like a fiddle. I’m half-angry, half-buzzin’, ‘cos she’s a riddle wrapped in silk.

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Now lemme spill some behind-the-scenes dirt: I once had a session in an old, run-down building on Backstreet. It was dark and eerie, but got folks talkin’ in raw honesty. I swear, that place cast some magic, like something out of Brooklyn, sayin’ “I never knew it’d hurt so much, and yet, it felts so damn right.”

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