Touching the tune inside their terracotta-of-mind and minding how we do these dishevelling little things with our lopsided intelligences please. She’s
Prying for utter absenteeism actually. Even been
Crying with alabaster eyes almost miraculously well aligned. We’ve started at the time-of-DeatH InSiDe of Her Hopscotching MiNd and made her feel = “faraway plus a FARRRRR(!!) realer version of her very own latterYAY(!!) person. It’s
Highly unlikely, actually, that we’ve grouped ourselves aforesaid dIsHeVellEd together (again) and gratefully gotten ourselves dug-and-delved.” What ever happened to Elisa WhittleBone for her pedestrianised mind to “MOAAAAAN!!” (and) at a seriously awkward pace, “plEASE?” Was she really
Sticking herself inside of a playoff and offering her best assets ANYWAY… to all of these players of predominant bliss? When it’s hard (AsHell) to describe JUST HOW HARSH-AND-HEAVILY SHE WENT AND INTO THE
Utterly unknown with the BonesOfHerself! We’ve “instantaneously tied ourselves to the electrifying insides of our
Aforesaid terracotta minds and mattered THE MOST ACTUALLY.” When Frère Jacques managed to sell himself to the (DEATH OF THE) DeV!L and make
Sellout sense of herself anyway.
