There was a vision somewhen and there was the pope. The vision was incorrectly seen as two time runner had decided to enmask. The vision was seed and the Pope was might...We are there over the buoy. We have been swimming all to past darkness. You were thrice. I saw one and the rest of them. It clattered my mind with bootleg, with bootleg. On the other side of the lake far more to catch ear than to catch eye. I rearrange and the sheet goes on the table. Below the egg and above the edge. I have twenty pounds I roam in Soho as the word gets by: twice yourself and you submerge, my discrete Elharoyal, my seed, my vision, my thrice ashamed. It is the over side of the leek and it kills someone then he wants to date and they see someone and crack bamb, the queen is dispelled of the sortilege of A-Vaah. Nevert underestimate the crees, the mohawk and the red, the red. The seeker went for the throne and imaged in the geek staring. You know who you are let yourself be the edge, O phantom, Queer. You are in the crowd and
the priest falls over, projects the light and restore all. You are the real kisser. I am just target with no name but one plight...I am the fine card swipped. It is final. Swim with me!
The Tomb, the Bomb,
Your rolling Stone
to Elharoyal in climb, also...Holding three.
