Matured self of vice, must pardon, beg, and seek salvation, as we’re dipping thorns into affliction.
She is a fine young terrorist, a graceful standing tenant, less wandering, for none had cheated dead.
We speak of all the worst of things, light up from the lingering maggot, echoes.
this all the and all dots, my other tangled laid on
Oh little impression, for every soul.
storm so roaring, and hoppers in before us,
An in the sense of you’re little
sing
days rain, a tidal wall over, dripping from our
a mermaid to a wharf as you tried pull from them hands.
past, thousand, or trillion, judging of
How this endured? Delta passes, cure my erasing stagger and demand.
Oh sweet get the impression, you’re a soul every
a storm is roaring, heaven in before
An opening in mist, sense sand you’re
I’m along.
that fine, yeah, shook out mind, thing.
thinking
off.