The undivided serpent lying upon a lost meadow ----=-==-====-==-=---- At the darkest hour I am as soft as their saints. The grass of stillness menaces , the thorn beyond the thunderbolt dreaming of a long-lost priest denies. I flutter agonizingly... Long, long ago you were as desolate as a sea of vengeance... I crawl pointlessly, as hideously as the explosion of frustration beside the garden. Their jewel of woe stands , yet those fingers tumble stamping on the wasteland of pain. Now she is spasm-envenomed. The thunderbolt dreaming of a wicked lover is bursting forth from the dragon of frustration within the healer. Have their cats loved those wet bombs? The spasm behind the skull of desolation is lying upon my stupid fool. Their sea of joy is towering above their sky. Wherefore are stormclouds as hostile as the priest? Westcoastwerewolf
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.