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A fine dining experience is simply NOT living within means. How rather tragic then said sparrow.

Catacombs in an x shape are often x rated chambers filled with sleeping custard coloured vermin who prey on youthful walls. Youthful walls are painted in all hues to appease all tastes of every description and the tales last for many a monstrous moon. Told but untold. In a cloaked veil of shroud. Akin to an inner shell where a sea creature only ever displays the carcass upon the beaches for the humans to pick up, collect and take home. Empty empty waste. But the inner sanctum often goes unnoticed in great depths. It is to be said that when fourteen missionary duck people stamp on a sky beam the callous wickedness of the setting scenes of woe will be extinguished and the pitter patter of the fleeing legs of mice, bluebirds, limpets, buds, and the miniature horses will be heard radiating through the tunnels to finally emerge on a beach then board a little rowing boat and sail off into nicer more pleasurable climes away from.static ratios of abuses from abusers whose stations worldwide are often busy acrimonious places where fortress foetus dwells to cause pain and suffering akin to pulling the leaves off a daisy, the legs off a spider, or cutting a horses throat to cause wasted blood to sweep over the galvanised mouth of the collaborated octopi who gather to receive gifts for their master gods. No ha no x and definably no z today. As all is swept and put in a painting then served in a fine dining establishment. Authorisational.

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