Bean Juices

A wagon wheel in a sunset is never content with wearing a dress for it is quite partial to jumpers when it is eighty-three degrees Celsius. Excommunicated meal worms in favourite displays of rancid carious carnivals. But should a bee bark its time to touch ten silver coins, milk a plant and enter a castle in appropriate attire. Wow. Wise wheeling wisdoms waving. Great. Fantastic isn't it. But holding hands together to firm a symbol is to display acute accent and arrogance. So one should not run away from this demonstration of significant shallot. In ball gowns. Clicking clock clicked. Hahahaha acidic juice. Citrus fruits. No ha to them non scenic routes in skirts and trousers. Perhaps they are asleep whispered the mouse to the rabbit in the nine metre glass house. Maybe maybe not. Look up nineteen times when passing the right angled tree triangles. And hop and jump over the waves. Weeeee weeeee weeee. Great isn't it? Wow. Dominatrix in a dome. Dustbins. Goodbye gone. In a flood pond. Bye. Bye bye. Number of alienations are rising to the key of a b x d t with no q. Just a z chord chatting to a cooked charismatic capsule. Hahahahahahaha and now sleep. Late. Looks like lit leaves. Leaning. Levitations'. Learning. Lint. Hahahahaha. Bean bomb breath. How rather pleasant and dignified in studded guilded crest suits. Ornately offers originality. No. N and k waltz with z and f. Xxxxxxx unrealism's z