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Rating: We are in France, we are in two thousand and ten, and generally speaking, we are always there: spinning around the sound, a jamming messing around here and a voice on the horizon, kraut for breakfast, staring at the sun in the afternoon, and Saturday night sabbath.
On Sunday waking up at three in the afternoon with cotton wool in your brain and shoes still on your feet.
For the rest (except for a decent cover): here
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