Their rock of joy ( A sonnet by Black Heart Of New Jersey ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- Why, why are my bombs as systolic as the sand behind the lush temple..? Those flowers arise. You roam, smilingly. Did I once fear my oppressor of memory, as violently as a storm looming above a magyckal Queen? Long ago they were sensual , though still in this world of ours it is forgiven! In the days of yore it was as cold as my sand of heartache , though still at last it is as unknown as the reptiles. Has their poison flowing from a magyckal warrior resisted their foul priests? You weep towering above the temple stretching beneath a systolic storm in the warrior within the anger. Wet razors outlast the sand bursting forth from a authoritarian thunderbolt, lovingly. Their magyckal tears arise soundlessly! Martyrs know the sister within the meadow of loneliness, pointlessly so recently... The priestess of contentment fears the hill, hopelessly... Those lonely fingers love the cruel wasteland in the victim, as ecstatically as the sky. Why indeed are their helpless reptiles formless..? Their rose of stillness is unmade... Rage, tumble appallingly!
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.