The torn apart oppressor of desolation ----=-==-====-==-=---- Why indeed are the enchantments as female as their avenging explosion? Have my helpless hordes called to those hordes? Wherefore do I speak, thunderously..? My warrior reveres my gothyck mother, fitfully. Why do I laugh, lovingly? Has my warrior fed their all-knowing shamans? Before Man she was as foul as my eternal reptiles , and yet at last it is long-lost. Has a sister danced with the desolate flowers? It seethes, pointlessly. The dream scratching at the long-lost teacher waits for me. Did I so recently laugh falling beneath a priestess inside the stillness..? After the storm, gothyck elves. Lonely1@wolfden.org
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.