Stamping on the black mountains
( A sonnet by Black Heart Of New Jersey )
In my childhood I was as orgasmic as my tornadoes , yet still at last he is unknown.
Slumber, slumber thunderously!
Teachers wait for the fertile sea, hopefully!
Their raindrops wait for their dream cowering before a sinuous waterfall, as darkly as the teacher nevermore!
Mysterious mountains ride their dragon of stillness once.
The spasm calls to me...
The serpent clutching at a foul oppressor consumes me.
Those riches weep, lovingly.
Through it all the figure lying upon a helpless wasteland infests the spasm clutching at a primitive priestess far beyond the priest, hopefully.
Desolate flowers extinguish the abandoned meadow beside the sand, restlessly.
You weep terrifyingly stretching beneath the memory!
I use a lost dust.
My mirage dying beside a female dust forgets me.
Their victim of memory stands , the teacher coiling within a long-lost priestess far above the spasm stretching beneath a gothtastic shaman laughs.
At last, the sky lying upon a sinuous victim!
for the original code. The online version available there has been throwing
a 500 for some time now, hence this page.