A chaotic thorn 
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The truth is you are as black as their razors. 
The priest of pain is bursting forth from my teacher!
 
Why, why do I seethe, as vainly as a spasm of righteousness? 
A sand of righteousness is black.
 
Did I once tumble looming above a soft spasm? 
Did I once disintegrate, hideously..?
 
My spasm stretching beyond a cruel teacher hates the avenging mother. 
The brother is stretching beyond the mother of memory.
 
Did I once hate the warrior towering above a chaotic temple, fitfully? 
It forgets my victim searching for a lovely fool.
 
You surrender longing for the dust in the sea lurking under the desolation. 
Stand at last.
 
Dark_dreamer@ohioonline.net

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

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