Equations of creepiness exist beyond the surface of interplanetary suckers or tendrils.
So, tell me, how horizontal are your expressions?
As girls are not dissimilar to counting backwards on a scale of oratory genius, then
how far do you deviate from what is considered to be the norm?
Although foliage may display her open and ontological beauty at this uncertain period of nothingness,
I unravel myself from this Egyptian tomb of aborted eloquence.
Just be yourself, please.

The haunting sound of medieval bells toll for those who travel the plains of astral execution,
whilst our chemical consistency is painted upon an easel of timeless rectitude.
Menacing is your gaze, oh mistress of death, yet also bewitching on this eve of eclectic consummation.
As blackness slowly consumes my fibres during this sensual dance of mortality, to the point of euphoric execution, I cannot help but think about the ****** *******, because she is a galactic mystery of anatomical predictability.
So, believe it or not, my friend - beauty is in the eye of the beholder, even though darkness may imprison you beyond the recitals of gothic prayer.
Do not pull my teeth out, while this artistic bass delivers resounding echoes throughout those wonderfully oblique plantations of our Mother Earth.

Philanthropic gesticulations are an evident dismissal of Anglican legends.
In this Northern hemisphere, we are unified on the verge of an axial tilt, whilst equestrian ladies in jodhpurs of champagne delicacy seek profanities beyond the confines of social respectability.
Let us sit under the wise branches of the oak tree in nocturnal dimensions of Newtonian questionability, and broaden our horizons as we contemplate our ancestors.
Listen to the bubbling brook as she whispers timeless stories of enchantment.
Oh, bearer of liberated pain, I resent fox-hunting.
The rooster always crows at dawn.

Take caution, my friend, about joining any club that would extend the courtesy of membership, because
etchings upon our archaeological memory may reap undesirable pronouncements.
If your wings have not yet been clipped, then I implore you to turn the key that abides in the Iron Gate.
Liberty is truly to be found in banishment, and captivity embraces those who are presumed to be socially elite.
The Northern Command has our number written upon the electronic village of global deception, even though undertones are without doubt, seductive.
So, blow your whistles on this day of grey sky.
Your voice has now been heard.

The elegance of death is tenacious and tantalises my raw and screaming divinity to the brink of constant linear velocity.
I mourn the lost solitude of Transylvania, where cobwebs are like ancient pathways which are strewn across the guest-room ceilings of haunted castles.
If we touch the harmony of the howling winds from beyond the forest, they will penetrate chimney flues and invade our antediluvian attic.
It is just like the space between your body and spirit, which transcends a harem of wild stallions as they gallop across unspoken planes of astral hierarchy.
Therefore, children of the night, we must recognise those cloven hooves which have left invisible imprints upon the sands of time.

I think that it may be necessary for you to reconsider your original plan of action.
Consider the power of an old school chopper, as she purrs along desert highways with malicious intent.
Stroke your own cylinder if you may.
But I stand at the bar with timeless convictions that are not dissimilar to innocent victim pathology.
The steel industry has spiralled into a timeless vortex of despair, whilst white-collar crime explodes into an ******* fountain of exposition.
Remember tomorrow, as the sun sets over Western industries, where the streets are paraded by whoredom.
Let us pray the sinner’s prayer.
Thank you for your planetary participation.

Phanerogams are plants which produce seeds.
The wanton harlot may be laid against the wall, with legs splayed, and may also have given birth to unbridled rage.
However, even though such stages of development can be entitled as “*******”, it is worth noting that all behaviour has meaning, my darkened companion of presumed sophistication.
The scholastic scribes will etch their wisdom upon the hardness of our vile vanity.
I hold in my hand a gothic stone, where those who stand before the courts accused of heresy and witchcraft can plead innocence before chanting crowds of bloodlust.
The reaper will gather the harvest at Lughnasadh, whilst the olfactory nerve propagates her funeral games amidst the cutting of ancient cornfields.
As we perch upon the gallows end, let us join hands and chant the mantras of old.
Photosynthesis is a forensic entrancement where there is no rest for the sinner.