In a beehive each contrived thought is suppressed, for the good of the rest. Its a blessing really. Confessing silly little pieces of frill for the pure thrill of distilling difference leads to bigger things. Still, each bee has a stinger. One chance to effect before the final resting place. Some say it's just a stop over, 40 days to be exact, then an impact can be seen again.
My friends..my enemies; people of the steeple. Will you ever rise to demise the ties that bind her? She cries for every day laid in pain, what will the baby look like, she can not ask her father. Its plain to see but less than simple. A mental block. A flock. Socked away in places suppressed. Undressed again but the stress is setting in and it screams for release..the police have nothing to gain. Pain put on stage in these days of change, and no one could stop watching.
The coughing flock relentless. Time to undress and stand naked staring at the sun. Dicks in hand, spit in the sand, and make a stand, he said to his son. Red white and blood, for the sky bleeds tonight. I seem to recall a quite conversation.... No, an event from the last life of the butterfly. How beautiful is the breeze causing typhoon? Wheezing, hacking up cum. Pain placed away will rise.
The wind subsides and it awoke to another life. Cold and unforgiving is a human emotion. Strained devotion hoped to save, but what does a rock make of thoughts? Stop is a construct of time. In the endless existence, it is but a minute, and a blink of the blessed eye. These contrived coughs.
My friends..my enemies; people of the steeple. Will you ever rise to demise the ties that bind her? She cries for every day laid in pain, what will the baby look like, she can not ask her father. Its plain to see but less than simple. A mental block. A flock. Socked away in places suppressed. Undressed again but the stress is setting in and it screams for release..the police have nothing to gain. Pain put on stage in these days of change, and no one could stop watching.
The coughing flock relentless. Time to undress and stand naked staring at the sun. Dicks in hand, spit in the sand, and make a stand, he said to his son. Red white and blood, for the sky bleeds tonight. I seem to recall a quite conversation.... No, an event from the last life of the butterfly. How beautiful is the breeze causing typhoon? Wheezing, hacking up cum. Pain placed away will rise.
The wind subsides and it awoke to another life. Cold and unforgiving is a human emotion. Strained devotion hoped to save, but what does a rock make of thoughts? Stop is a construct of time. In the endless existence, it is but a minute, and a blink of the blessed eye. These contrived coughs.
