Friday, April 13, 2012

Bulk Rate

Happy this happy that happy your listing marine feet busted a Monday window. Egg baby charcoal baby igneous baby gone. Rough cut ice cream, tumble down bastards at the wall ate free. This king, this emperor, childless guru with rustic charms and sibilant coordination, his shanty shoes and tundra pals went down. From storm eye fragrant leaves from shadows and bulk rate images dart circles and concert memories. Throats have worlds. Casting about for sheep eyes, our dice hands find a bier of burning nights, naked in water and wind. Grow cold grow without mercy grow 'til globe gets along.