Struck down by the terrific taste for crimson-blue persuasion, she seems ill-at-ease with these many a thing, while he reloads his paternoster gun and prolongs at proceeding to free these people one more time alarmed by the makings of the nighttime
And the clothes that he adores to wear are colourific all of and on their lonesome own – a haberdashery of mixed-up meaningful metaphor, deplores the movement of the other thirst-arisen person midst the floating clouds of apprehension again, and a dust-ridden moon hangs like nobody’s true business
All mild mellowing smiles and undoubted misbehaving’s – say it like a songbird, like it needs to be spoken at impeached speed, pl-ease 
Ease that silver-setter bullet on through from he to you and via these each and every next moving moments of crucifying aside incredulous hardships which still skip a generation-less generation – all of them conversationally correct generalisations which still continue to persist and carry with them stripped sirloin-lipped procedure
And, suddenly so soon, she begins at feeling all sorts of solvable whilst constantly smiling over a cold embittered ‘n’ bountifully bruised shoulder only ever for herself left to her own sullen, rip-torn ‘n’ worn devices
That thankless, tan-less task that every other one of them people had been attempting to sidestep only it never ever stops, how could it… can it though?