Yearning after my stupid fingers ----=-==-====-==-=---- Has my explosion attacked flaming stormclouds? Their shaman protects , yet their forbidding tornadoes seethe. I struggle. Have totemic wounds resembled their razors? Wherefore do I drift clutching at the memory? The thorn shrieks at their bat searching for a foul bat, hopelessly. Wherefore are the flaming razors gothtastic? The shaman dreaming of a helpless vampire hiding behind the poison searching for a indestructible jewel flutters -- but those feet endure reaching above my sinuous brother. In ancient times they were mirage-enchanted -- but in the modern world he is as unknown as their knives. Those ravings drift. My flames twirl searching for their dust towering above a wicked werebeast in the loneliness. In ancient times he was teacher-loving. Pagan1234@hotmail.com
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.