That is going to melt What a thunder AT NIGHT IN THE NEGLECT IMMACULATE OF THE GODS A crowd of silences AT HIS NIGHT FEST. There in the manger of cans and cardboard napalm IN ITS Fiery LIQUOR SLIPPING FREE THROUGH THE RUGGED SOIL Kneeling juxtaposition FROM PAIN Devouring DANCING EVERY STEP BETWEEN ANOTHER SCREWING with its propellers THE NEXT SON Drowning from orb ASSAULTING THE OWN FLANK UNDRESSING A PAIN OF BEING INSTANT IN THE SAME MOVEMENT BEING CROSSED BY SLIPPING FOUNDED IN THAT CRAMM DRAWN BY THE WINGED OARM ACCOMPANIED AND ABANDONED FOR HER MOTHER AFRAID OF KNOWING THEMSELVES CREATOR OF THE DREAM ETERNAL WATCH OF THE GODS IN A DANCE OF DELIVERY TO THE DRUM and to the trumpet TREASON OF THE HOSTS OF MOSES also in the torrid zon
130 SHOCK HITS FORTRESS IN GOD'S VEHICLE The, clash, The clash hits the fortress In God's vehicle Rapid diaspora watering shadow inflorescences Lilac and white or mirages of captains, encircling the Ottomans Between mosques
