Litigation of licences opened unto the Sarumen of sumnabulists and Aha! Right where the knee meets the thighs, the heel in new attire. A smack to both cheeks, trans-Atlantis Samaritans paint a coagulation of the shorts and simple: Puritan Paradise. Six short sentences, single handed twos? Task to the lip of crayons and fish, the dancing of Speed and the flash of the string. Sisters in string, compute us some strings, a crudely assemled version of the primitive, T Rex Reverend, up the knoll with sermon of W. For be I if of the loins of The LORD, may consummation be known to the congregation by conflagaration . Busy little bee: Where have around been you? The window into the soul of emptiness, then what? Everything Burns! And so you, the Bishop and his crystal, old Trashy by the combustion of particles: You too! Of Dangerous Minds and corners cut up, diced and salted, the wounds, the lightning strike upon a door. The heat of the dust, the seat and a hymn: The lip of the ring, the ropes, tiny fucking tool, at your back. And stand it up Tall and fly, galvanise the suited, booted and strapped, gain-say the wordless for after that 1st of sons equals nothing but by the here, nothing but bless us bye. By the statistics of supplying demand, a litttle less former of course raises the latter, and absense of truth truly sends an ass black marketing... And Price is right, the priesthood of kings christen a kingdom. That boat sailed and battles won see small red red eyes Triumvirate stepping three spins in a globe. Tongues of fire faithfully rumble the heavens, FIRE? FIRE? BURN THEM DOWN! Recuiescat In Pace by the giggles of the Pater, adventuring up the Advent and armoury of Ephesus. Signals of Rasputin, load of the prophet's horn brims and character of ghouls, the rudeness of the rule. Mathematics of a slave engineered by amounts at Oxford, the broken and a tooth, the bullet in a booth.
Building blocks of the flesh, of witless bunnies in attire. Like said 'Thrustra: 'I'd rather die, I'd rather eat my head in halves, than suffer the imagination less imaginary'. So beat up a tune and Beat It if you dare, for blood floods this floor. I cook you a tune like Pablo and write upon your destiny by This Hand, Little Big Horn and the preservative of the native. Old friend that new, to the shaping of Immortals make you a stew, relish that succulence of eye-balls. By the footstep of generations, veneration of genealogies in the history of the passing down, give them the scimitar of powers, the rulers of man, the conquerors of climes, the overlook through you's, the state, Iron and knock-out of kindred through water on the head. The saints march to the bamboozled kettle-drm that bang in the earth. Little does thrill this maker of hearse, mushrooom clouded, dragonfly warfare. Up the river to the stool, that golden place where Asante meets the paragon of Krishna. Lives lost can never be found, lives found forever float between the stars. Yours rouge as I read, yours blue that will come between, in the nest of signing papers, why not sound the signal of forward. The Mahdi - they too could summon the sands. The matrimony until risk becomes a by-word. Consummate the sound, a bitter basilisk in a basin, look thee up and down and song that song - Tuff Gong: magistrate of the brain turn up-side-down. The brink, the verge, the promise of Diana, Ajax of the Danae, remember Achilles, remember the son of the sea. And Aeneas to the bow of Paris, the kow-tow of Romans by the sceptre of the youngest of sisters. But she's my mann and the universe did spoke! Even in quaters, the spokes of two wheelers make men go mad: And rumble, for trouble, for if you tick off Trouble, we give it to you treble. Jain Janus by the hours.
