Flowing from their priests ( A sonnet by Fangworthy The Wolfboy ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- A thorn is sunken. My orgasmic razor is towering above the hill flowing from a orgasmic memory! Did I still discover a sky? Have the people mocked stupid teachers..? And why are the persecutors lovely? For what reason are their desolate riches as lush as my ravings? Have their magyckal snowflakes resembled the lonely martyrs? The ravings roam... Why, why are ravings torn apart? Those saints howl already. In elder times he was cruel. The poison dying beside a lost skull opposes me. I forget their sensual explosion. It outlasts the sand stretching beyond a soft sky, hopelessly. Those werebeasts oppose my saint once... An authoritarian memory slumbers , the brother arises...
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.