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With bony hands I hold my partner,
on soulless feet we cross the floor,
the music stops as if to answer,
an empty knocking at the door,
it seems his skin was sweet as mango,
when last I held him to my breast,
but now, we dance this grim fandango,
and will for years until we rest.
—Olivia Ofrenda, Grim Fandango
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