No longer forgotten
My abandoned demons howl cowering before my saint of contentment.
You attack their thunderbolt of pain.
In the days of yore they were as flaming as the mountain reaching above a cold explosion within the saint of anger.
It uses the sensual victim...
Have my foul fireflies infested flaming knives?
Has their fool of grief discovered those sensual enchantments?
Yet look; their serpent shrieks at their spasm of peacefulness, thunderously.
Did I nevermore infest the King?
My razor hates me.
Why indeed do I infest their hill, ecstatically?
Why, why do I heal my lover, hopelessly?
When all's done, warriors love the saint of frustration...
for the original code. The online version available there has been throwing
a 500 for some time now, hence this page.