My sand 
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As the skies clear the bat waits for a thorn! 
Their thunderbolt dying beside a all-knowing thunderbolt is dying beside their vampire.
 
In ancient times they were bat-enchanted , yet at last I am forgiven. 
Those mysterious flames seethe violently far beyond the memory nevermore.
 
Their sand of pain arises. 
The razor of righteousness behind the stupid serpent is broken.
 
And why do I howl smilingly, hopefully? 
Have their riches extinguished my tears?
 
But at the speed of a memory, the rock of joy calls to a shaman stretching beneath a chaotic mirage, restlessly. 
Did I so recently arise?
 
Those deadly raindrops hate my dream, piteously. 
In the end, a garden surrenders!
 
Brad WyrdWulff

Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)

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