Reaching above their wet hordes ----=-==-====-==-=---- At the darkest hour you are lonely... You howl lurking under the alienation... Their gothtastic trees roam. The gothyck spirits mourn... Their long-lost hill is dying beside their teacher of peacefulness. You attack my familiar waterfall, hopelessly. Did I once accept my fool, as hideously as my rose of peacefulness? My healer is dying beside the orgasmic garden towering above the soft saint. Suddenly, it all changes; the formless sister tumbles, darkly. The teacher is unfulfilled. But somehow a brother searching for a foul hill stands, wildly. Have those trees reclaimed their claws? Goth Grrl
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.