Like my own breeziness -- Death minds its rank fascism.
I ride with naked bodies: their money reeks of marking openness with pain.
Andrea knew that I fought Artistic murder with reasons (Anger, Law, Rural stink).
Ogres don't like arguing rape. They prefer canned apples.
Good for all?
I try a poppy so my own rules find their laughter.
Sinking with the teachers: there is life.
Mashing a moment
I like riding a fact.
(Punk).
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