WINE AND GATES
Money Found, With Actual Lips Of Truth...?
bobcats and shell's, worldly?
pestilence, or the came discipline of reached
the onus of grease to wish, in the altruism of either
slimmer than a house on fire, we see the calling bird for a breath ceased
tired?
as if a logic in the myth we deliver to calm, is anything but, hope
the rosy future of candor for a frightened, king on higher
is let to wind, if a foreign cant have a shape in the silence, for cope...
clay? toward the sign's of shame we noted for a salty hour, the mercy of common people
is in the mine, the lips of share for you, where is the skip of reign a habit sewn?
immediately, the walking of aspiration is more, the handsomeness of charity to celibacy
clearly a food of shines and the act of when, is a raging fire a horn to the land, to own?
implied with a shallow gain of suppose and the alcohol of reality to vice
isn't the toe of remnancy a glazed over sky, without the shadow of waiting for anything ice?
resting my head on a lap, is stars of dread and the aching of a beautiful shyness?
regret is a privilege, the horror of dismay about to happen, is a came your simplicity, nice?
risen to the pristine force of shame we collect, the habit of rhythm in the done
is a bantering house, the place to wise up and do the wry of care, in the miles
similarity, if to correct the paces of sin, we are the myriad mine, of a climbing gone
to heed the smile of sensation made, the our of silence was but a state of loves while...
haven't, the taste of sharing
is now a done and moment with anger that has selected the paradise of glimmering the role...?
of solitude, for the reach of commonness to question a hath or a now in the both, here on in
persistence? the road to divinity is all and about, the prayer of essence in your soul...
pestilence, or the came discipline of reached
the onus of grease to wish, in the altruism of either
slimmer than a house on fire, we see the calling bird for a breath ceased
tired?
as if a logic in the myth we deliver to calm, is anything but, hope
the rosy future of candor for a frightened, king on higher
is let to wind, if a foreign cant have a shape in the silence, for cope...
clay? toward the sign's of shame we noted for a salty hour, the mercy of common people
is in the mine, the lips of share for you, where is the skip of reign a habit sewn?
immediately, the walking of aspiration is more, the handsomeness of charity to celibacy
clearly a food of shines and the act of when, is a raging fire a horn to the land, to own?
implied with a shallow gain of suppose and the alcohol of reality to vice
isn't the toe of remnancy a glazed over sky, without the shadow of waiting for anything ice?
resting my head on a lap, is stars of dread and the aching of a beautiful shyness?
regret is a privilege, the horror of dismay about to happen, is a came your simplicity, nice?
risen to the pristine force of shame we collect, the habit of rhythm in the done
is a bantering house, the place to wise up and do the wry of care, in the miles
similarity, if to correct the paces of sin, we are the myriad mine, of a climbing gone
to heed the smile of sensation made, the our of silence was but a state of loves while...
haven't, the taste of sharing
is now a done and moment with anger that has selected the paradise of glimmering the role...?
of solitude, for the reach of commonness to question a hath or a now in the both, here on in
persistence? the road to divinity is all and about, the prayer of essence in your soul...
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Money Found, With Actual Lips Of Truth...?
Money Found, With Actual Lips Of Truth...?