(no subject)
Jilted tanning spray tongue and merriweather stance
Fitted standing stray and lunge with a fair-thee-better glance
Inside the outer ring, let slide the touted sheen of morose and humble decompose snugly into the warming clasp of the censure. A finite tenure of concretely humanizing undertones quick on her blunder toes she tripped with the undertow right before slipping into her new home. Between Prudence and Providence lies Decadence, a four-corner town in a coroner's gown. Each resident slept eight hours, worked eight hours, ate for two hours, and always died peacefully. Beseeching pestilence, researching evidence and debunking heaven's fence, the tawdry boundary with the resisting tethered wrists. They incited willfully and forever invited sinfully the tranquil ability to submerse instability with perverse reality. Perfunctory childbirth insert me by style's filth.
Pick it up from that point, the faltering penance of a phrase pitching pristine from the column of the trampled. Beleaguered by the request, ankles nearly snapping and docile from the gentle sapping.
Sire Sentinel celebrating dire sensible elegant with mired principles sending phalanx toward the fray. Sire Sentinel allocating tired generals malevolent but nigh of whimsical pending mental chainlinks for the way up the slope to cerebellum and the sky holds the misunderstood serum.
And in hand is the remote. Conscience movement of display, constant involvement in the play. Diagnose stillbirth, whoever it will first. For this can't set near Prudence, and hasn't even earned a spot in Providence. And everyone here sleeps eight hours every day.
Fitted standing stray and lunge with a fair-thee-better glance
Inside the outer ring, let slide the touted sheen of morose and humble decompose snugly into the warming clasp of the censure. A finite tenure of concretely humanizing undertones quick on her blunder toes she tripped with the undertow right before slipping into her new home. Between Prudence and Providence lies Decadence, a four-corner town in a coroner's gown. Each resident slept eight hours, worked eight hours, ate for two hours, and always died peacefully. Beseeching pestilence, researching evidence and debunking heaven's fence, the tawdry boundary with the resisting tethered wrists. They incited willfully and forever invited sinfully the tranquil ability to submerse instability with perverse reality. Perfunctory childbirth insert me by style's filth.
Pick it up from that point, the faltering penance of a phrase pitching pristine from the column of the trampled. Beleaguered by the request, ankles nearly snapping and docile from the gentle sapping.
Sire Sentinel celebrating dire sensible elegant with mired principles sending phalanx toward the fray. Sire Sentinel allocating tired generals malevolent but nigh of whimsical pending mental chainlinks for the way up the slope to cerebellum and the sky holds the misunderstood serum.
And in hand is the remote. Conscience movement of display, constant involvement in the play. Diagnose stillbirth, whoever it will first. For this can't set near Prudence, and hasn't even earned a spot in Providence. And everyone here sleeps eight hours every day.