truths
civility rolled off autumns tongue after forty three and neigh a year coursing through four noble turns and twice unfolding the tear.
in her hands i'd rarely leep, occasionally for some sufferings sleep
and in the tree's i'd hang for she, often offered nothing of burglary
sheep and beep her alarms did seek, to conquer with force my earthly smell, learning to drink her milky swim i have lost verbs again
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