implosions are for starfish and our mission is clear. we have nowhere to be from and that's half the battle. we are seldom unbridled in the chastity of our carnal bluff... and our cages are breathing. we are finally designing our most daring Inertia. both mum on the details in the devil's flotsam. we jot some of the names of the nameless... on the outside of Dixie cups. like mint julep promise to a tangerine honest.
again and again, we ache through the breeze of our soothing traumas. we court the verity of a sham. we blast through the congregation of our adversary, snipping varmints from a stale camp in the southernmost of our due south,; where they fear the bonfire until a vagrant maps the flaming tongues to a long kiss.... and we crash upon the shore of Never Asked.