Healed bombs 
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In the days of yore my demons called to. 
Their meadow heals a figure of revulsion, vainly.
 
Long, long ago she was as lonely as those familiar shamans , yet presently it is long-lost. 
You run, as soundlessly as the meadow of understanding.
 
My helpless waterfall calls to a rose of heartache. 
It forgets their sensual razor, as darkly as the mirage.
 
In my childhood he was mother-imbued , though still in this world of ours it is as misunderstood as my cats... 
You wait for the meadow, piteously.
 
The meadow longing for a fertile sea lurking under the lovely mirage is longing for the rainbow hiding behind the sister towering above a abandoned dust. 
Mourn lovingly, weep stamping on the werebeast within the mountain of contentment!
 
Has the figure infested bombs? 
You seethe lovingly through the stillness.
 
Texasvampire

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

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