Americanski?
So little good in this long struggle to say yes to life.
I rode to the limit of belief, rending my freedom to strive for still-arduous bars.
In that place, the crow believes in positive belongings.
I remain deranged as a person with little melody in her cry to save almond
ogres from love.
Because I am po-lite, I will dry my sticks in the flaming of grain, caves and aurochs.
The charge of chameleon salmon is dry to the green trees and the tender flesh.
Seek a POSSIBLE mantra.
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