22/03/2014 - LIKEWISE

Likewise, ten out of ten axe wielders will feel a smell of dread and dreadnaughts that signify that the device is ready like an arsehole Christian King. We were the lucky ones with plagues and town searchers of jailers of locked windows and many centuries of treasured bubble bath and incredible beauty. How one wanes, the other won’t tell until the smoke has let the tower down for it’s harassment of gorgeous screams. It makes me anxious and an old story straight from the beardy lips of papa and his cursed runes that he usually keeps safe in the back pocket of his scullery jeans. Where there’s a will there’s a winkle and a quite often made testament to autumnal sweeping. The golden ring fires the gun and lets the musket balls fall down with the rest of the heavily-loaded day. The leaning of the foliage makes the day too dark to forgive the waylays for their trespasses and grandmother toads.

 

1. ain’t the arrows a memorable track of the laser show – with palms all sticky and psalms filled with mildew and just plain dew from reference libraries and other womb-like places
2. the  legs are eaten by the tree and the swords are being drawn away from the nuclear weaponry for altruistic reasons
3. Quivers, Strikes, Aims, Lames, Draws broad sword, Lets loose on edges
4. His eyes are all but entirely emitting sore head phobia. The fear is diseased and showered like hamper bones on the bruises of stock character design and changing for rebranding purposes and the cruising of a killer slaking the thirst most trusted advisors
5. DREAMY CREAMY TEAMY TEEMING LEECHES WITH IMPOLITE STITCHES IN LOBSTER PIECES AND DRUDGERY DUNGEONS THAT ARE TOO GOOD FOR CELEBRITIES LIKE US
6. to be in no way reasonable and responsible with assault course stamina and kisses from race tracks that outnumber the spaces on a man’s golden retirement watch with only a pinch of the original music and half a rope
7. for the betterment of white powder that lasts on the brain matter

 

Otherwise the obeisance will force the forest to be shown to the woods that handle the bespectacled loner some truth and errant adroitness. I’m not so bad, you’re fairly decent and the ones in the tower are as good as dead according to the Wolves of the Dykes. At least we can read with every penny and leave the first to be taken with taxidermy and famous brightly dance. Thinking makes the rap-tap-tap rather good with hospitality and kind aspersions. Stop singing, my little shindig diggers on your mighty bereft steeds. Little sleepers with headlights are crooning in the stables, probably trying to get us away from the pretty, sticky mouth of more manic horses. We must hurry with cack-handed gamey turnips. The warped mirrors. A body in the outskirts. All of us moving faster than we’ve ever moved faster than before. World’s such a remarkable place for tripwires and livewires and little else.