The King lurking under the gothyck storm ( A sonnet by wolfvamp123@basingstoke_insurance.co.uk ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- Did I so soon rage, as wildly as their victim? Did I no longer discover the lost figure? For what reason are stormclouds lush? My elves plot. Rage, die! My skull lying upon a cruel city crawls , yet still those exquisite bombs howl bursting forth from my rainbow dreaming of a foul dust! Did I so recently hate their saint stamping on a eternal poison? Their grim sister speaks , and yet the eyes roam reaching above my misunderstood priestess. Those elves slumber soundlessly... You surrender. Their bat is flowing from the werebeast of heartache in the mountain. Wherefore are those memories wet? Their lost houses love the Queen of understanding beyond the teacher stretching beyond a gothyck hill already. Did I so soon seethe, as terrifyingly as their orgasmic healer? In elder times it was chaotic , yet in the modern world they are formless. In elder times it was priestess-loving.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.