Sunday, June 27, 2004

the aliens got thru, deep into a solemn lumpy earth that is home. into a green sward of culled from the brink. into institutes of angels leaving Baghdad wooded screen, as snappy as payment. then crying out over long speakers of address, as if the nation caught the flew too far. no more the relinquishing sedition but this over lord shit. spikes in the air as the perfect detail, while you waited in honest thrum on a little guitar. only too much more than never again. such language, friends of saying so, such language you want to bring!

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