The enemies of the she-costumed carnivores can only be afforded cocked discouragement, a moody gun, that shakily advises the apical trill of survival, loosely licking towards a frightened stare atop the exposed cinders of summer wiped houses

They shall busy the fury which entered, with seeming grace, yet confined a coloured rage, enticed by a cruel campaign unsealed , amongst cheaply woven beards, concrete in their inherited drama, and the empathy that historians herald with initialised stationery.

Siege, resist, repeat. The next defector wins once the completist sucks the precious ransom from its gentle dress. Now fix the bedroom light or foster your fear to slide out from between the sheets and sweep all industry aside, for now the dark satanic tills scan a digital portrait of voodoo clowns left in the shade where none can prove nor double rise under the sun. Wander into the reckless ugliness, writing fables with the debris of clothes removed by the offset of a simple span. You cannot excuse those left hanging in tortured water. The portioned dungeon of camouflaged strangling blinds the boy smoothed at the edges into a binding selection.

Revolution litters the prevailing wind