PART DEUX
Rank wang floated dubiously in the air. The chief fomentor of lust rubbish was pleased. It was dark and pale and rancid. He wore torn breeches of bad amalgamations and wrought dark lagoons of the luxurious forays he was wont to conclude. Deep spates of dark divinities drowned his deep thoughts on dark thots and third words of red sandals. We'd love to not, but for they that had this madness. Yellowed tribes in disheveled robes bound with glee from hilltop to tree. There needn't be any reason free. We'd then see what to be. Flee or bend the knee. I crout in silence my hands to my face, the sound I trace withered in dark lace. What for we know of this benknownst, but not when or how or of the most. Let be this tree of some or three and the vine comes to shine may we be fine. Brine and dine and do not whine when we're fine, we'll be in line. Let all be held and then forgot, old things quelled and some things not. This is it, but for now, hags a great day up until now and then some more.
Thank you,
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