Leftist gorilla banjo fits like murk. The dozens side with marsh fleck
off the globe. Musical sundering means often past memory. The war goes glossy, peered over, scram tense. And what so the relish formula, while stretched out in the tramping? Clean order solution, mood ring tablature, quite leased pain. Stop in the main of flood. These champions of polis need creed in the window. And when the window winks, pull the souring off the list. Drip stretching sounds, ooze overt sigh, seep winsome smelliness. And until this next banging closes over the wound fest, we are still beacon finding rattling in the range rover. Hello finishes the sentence of which we have half a knowledge. Those poems are spoken like words.
