To All

Being melancholy confusion, saying seriously that we are who we are, that mountain of dandruff was what we saw, they all lose anyways so why not chop it off? At the sound, at the towns, we were liverworts and lackadaisical not? They were who people are on the loft and at the Joss? Hey, they travel, they toll and they site the soul, but we readers in perfect time aren’t even gold, we smell coal, and drink danger- and make the erasers plainer!! Hey lady- do me some danger, read into it and feel free to withstand litany on the stilt! Break the core who cannot mold... They once stated in an outcast that the chasm's fill- I once grazed against a song that was outdated and needed will.