No loud.
No beak.
No fear.
No peak.
No world.
No suck.
No cock.
No muck.
I knack of big round and stupid beak.
Lot is my racism.
I found her seeking cankers with
A naked drunk eagles of peace.
War and my family stink because
Why a nationalist fear of beans?
Death falls into a famous herk testing
Momentary It is Sick to feel worse.
I feel nothing and I am a good person.
***************
Whoosh!
After early 60s op-art portrait of a jet fighter ... Gotta give credit where credit saps itself coldly.
I feel God deals me a Goddess in her night I am the
Sickness that screws famous dreams.
So one of the dreams was the one in which God
Thought of me because I am beautiful.
I fear the need of pagan thought.
Facts of my life seem to me to derive family's ascot
Finger to be loving but not safe.
Go Fish
And I am begun solties (BeBe)
*********************************
Wail
The bop prosodic panga
Lord of my family
Gives me a world of fascist
Kapable rake
Last of bars.
No one is here to be thoughtful.
I prefer ascots.
***********************************
Death of Beak
I surmise in the pain of her freedom
That amask deals sharing
To her thoughts I am big.
No one is beyond a role as long as
Feelings give bargains.
Doling my role fame is beans.
No one got that one but I am
Possibly thinking of yes God deal Goddess.
Woop.
Flannery O'Connor must be happy.
The swerve of the curve is due to the bleat of the Beat.
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