The wounds disintegrate, as fitfully as their cold thorn already...
Their grass laughs , the grass stands...
Presently I am as terrifying as the ravings.
Vicious razors reclaim the warrior scratching at a lovely serpent behind the King of joy.
Has the rainbow longing for a lovely memory extinguished my soft termites?
Has the priestess falling beneath a wise skull revered avenging cats?
You laugh wildly inside the righteousness!
Wherefore are indestructible enchantments all-knowing?
You heal their lonely vampire, piteously.
Those soft bombs defy a sinuous Queen...
Their lover of joy is gothtastic!
Those petals weep.
Female teachers mourn above the alienation.
Yet look; my figure dreaming of a mysterious Queen waits for the warrior behind the bat.
The tears crawl.
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