Flowing from the fingers
Their Queen of contentment loves me.
Did I so recently dance with the thunderbolt hiding behind the rock of memory, as thunderously as my grass stamping on a orgasmic figure?
Why do I drift flowing from their martyr of grief hiding behind the peacefulness?
Their rose slumbers , a thunderbolt coiling within a helpless memory endures!
Weep lying upon my rose, crawl!
for the original code. The online version available there has been throwing
a 500 for some time now, hence this page.