The battalion that once crashed the pillar of servitum lies in deep sea, sinking low. The generals have abandoned their call casting their nets to fish out a chain to history.
The binoculars has lost focus and so have the guns, they lay pointed at the commander with bullets intact. Who knows the pain the child gives when he bites the hand that feeds it, just like to dance to the tunes of the beat you made but duplicated.
The bells failed to make enough sound to alert about the time zone. The sweetness of the power has stripped many off their understanding, forgeting however much the bone is tasty soon crashed to pieces.
Why should one wait For a vine yard to turn bitter, the peace preacher who lives a life of torture to others, a said speech written by the crowd.
Hello Captain, am worried for your sinking ship your trainees sail better than you For your lack of visibility. Your self esteem bigger than your ego.
In the very beginning, the river so strong along fertile soils, rejuvenation goes with sprouting crops but the later the senility of the river, to worse the season to bear fruits.
Yes the old broom knows all corners of the house, now with the new times the swept area turns dirtier