Phantom
madness = men in trolleys + Timely Emancipation. Barricade = barracuda = no
friends who give up their guns and die for their country. We’ll see the people
raise the flag with masks of mathematical structure or recorded track records
that run as far as the elbow and no farther due to budget cuts and severe,
severe telltale signs of dimorphic faith. Good evening to the school liar and
his handy backpack filled with little people with both brains and bite. Bravo.
After the snake, the aftertaste will burn the students alive. You talk too much
and the tots will be covered with rain and presence of mind in wonderful
battles that spy on better problem-solving activity. Hold yourselves in
readiness. Take your knife and kill the theory like a woman in shaded clothing
and all her years ahead of her.
STRIDENT BRAIN CHEMISTRY PATHS CROSSING AGAIN
OH
NO
DON’T I KNOW
Thinking on description – poor things in love = twice the
wimp I once was. Attend the tale. Shave + Tread + Trod + Bridges = Troglodyte
Physics = Fancy Clients for Half the Price. The demonic natter of swung will
hold the hostage to the sky to moralise the bowtie off of most Mediterranean
gentlemen who have long memories and short nods. No-one can get down there
anywhere or anyhow just to prove the pedant his pittance was a kingly sum for
the sake of the Roman Empire. Sentence the son
and you accuse the father besides the point and we all know what kind of hind
the overlord will shelve after that with his first ideas and verdant bed
sheets. I look for truth for the definition mostly.
WHY AM AND NOT PM BECAUSE THE LANDLINE SAYS SO
The sad little criminal has the potential to deceive with
his tiny digits and proportionate crucifix. The magnifying is always a
spectator sport and not one to go cheaply into that orthodox nightly
engagement. The whip meets with the flesh and the cat gets out of the bag.
Eleven people will march on down to the regular police office and shout out
their lottery numbers for confirmation of their right to pass judgement. Not
now but later. Not later but now we shall see the woman flood herself into the
room and call on her spiritual divinity with little more than a superstar
wrapped up in her knitted scarf. Keeping the peace, peacekeeping, remembrance
of dart contests as quick as a flash in the party hat central zone, the one
that’s quarantined and has been for quite a while now and nobody is willing or
ready to tell us why. Something fishy in the water, smells like soot in fact.
The plan chews back, don’t you know? Don’t you get me wrong whilst I’m up here
waiting for your reactionary marrows and whimsy of God. The stamped and sealed
envelope = fronds at the top = is where we all are going + good PR + messy
recorder music.
WANNA GONNA
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