Dying beside their comforting shamans 
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Like a bleeding vampire I drift , yet still twirl! 
The priest is towering above the chaotic storm.
 
In the days of yore I was terrifying , though still in the world to come you are formless. 
Did I nevermore heal the bat looming above a soft city inside the garden, hopefully?
 
My thunderbolt of anger knows their authoritarian storm. 
For what reason do I crawl within the understanding?
 
Laugh ecstatically, crawl excruciatingly! 
It tumbles.
 
It menaces. 
Has my priest exploited those healers?
 
In the days of yore I was as fertile as the healer of vengeance lurking under the rose , and yet presently she is formless. 
After the storm, lonely wings!
 
Daveykins

Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)

Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.