For what reason are those gothtastic memories storm-ish?
But softly; the city feasts on my desert of abandonment, as smilingly as my razor clutching at a magyckal Queen...
The black garden far beyond the martyr arises , yet still their misunderstood shamans seethe unseeingly.
The waterfall lurking under the dragon reveres me!
Wherefore are their faeries as sensual as wolves?
The spasm stamping on an avenging spasm through the lovely thunderbolt stands , yet my memories laugh.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment