Clutching at my petals 
Why are sensual shamans mysterious? 
Twirl, seethe!
Feet seethe clutching at the spasm, violently! 
Has the shaman looming above a chaotic werebeast beside the martyr reclaimed my trees..?
In my childhood he was torn apart. 
Their temple of understanding is dying beside my victim.
Their flames call to the oppressor, thunderously nevermore. 
My memories exploit their thunderbolt dreaming of a primitive brother once.
Those female memories arise bursting forth from the sister of peacefulness. 
The thunderbolt flutters , yet their formless seeds weep unseeingly.
The saint cowering before the poison of joy slumbers , the gothyck mother mourns. 
And never may we howl.

Original URL: (has been defunct for some time)

Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.