Troubled/ no or fair/ by the still golden waters cadence or refrain from the inclusion of an individual's own shackles/ which drum a constant clasp of the next intent based on the purity of the assessment/ schink shlank slap/
Cobbled were streets or hobbled we people/ their paths not just warriors but our own war with the weary looks of the discontent of gold without/ a mirror and resolved souls/
And so marks a facet to evoke endless return of magic's need for self preservation and the self that is legends own gold armour/ a victory we together pave/ Golden Stave...
If these are the truths we seek and/ the God or Gods to find answers/ then what anathema awaits or a convocation in place of that?... Of no less is our theory derived thus philosophy and deliverance interpose. Affine the nature of our path with a certain answer .. of only two choices... That which I am and that which I might convert
And we Christen this day with the memorialized self opacity - all persons but one in a mystic realm her story unfolds by the ancient altars bedlam...
What savvy morrows does clemency's graces trounce.. in upon as spiders/ no snakes assumed panderous/ a squander- no lions in a mane/ not lower but higher dragons by bane. Though the fury of deliverance quenching not a birth from dens of evil's title banned by ~gold~ and bones. In insipid shallows.. not a grievance shall I bequeath/ my final breath is upon the restless encounters sought by such velocity/.. of sallow's as any inner self. Such a contrast to presbyter zombies princesses and elves!
Why?!
I was in a dungeon in Hell being tortured by the devil.
Whence forth all stitches of sentient docile was challenging farther than the girth of the Lord's great ship. Reaching souls by way of coast to coast..
Lords and Ladies sorceresses and witches in for the storm of temper and bulwark. Each I speak of naught for turn of fortune is for one to resolve (she touts the Golden Stave). A lament on a basis to which no lives' have dragon for my soul and the gold which I seek not nither or nye but in severed tones to the justice I speak. Hear me this..
And a world/ and a lot of confused self folly. This is not the Lord.. These are not my reflections..
Aluft cloud or mezzanine protections and wrong impressions.
What chain of holy command can virtue make if the gift you hold was never yours to take.
It was not taken foolish old Priest. It was found as if by prophecy that I find the wellness of such pious virtues endured by the plethora's gauntlet for riches in Heavenly retributions, a constant hierarchy contrite yet arbitrary of obfuscation enough for my own liberation.
Your epicurean delight now fiddler to tunes of which the canon shouldn't find disingenuous reprieve to be certain..
But tis mine.. .. Flying monkeys/ fangs and claws. Though driven as prayer invocation the involuntary inveterate invertebrate doesn't stay for boundaries moxie shall soon be broken..
In arbitration the rapid deteriorations invective hastens a new anticipation of vile amelioration for disclaimed lay you/ lugubrious maiden.
Slayer slayer mox of nether! Light nor lotus prayer! Deliverance from which I ran. What soul pientous aster fiends by world and legend n tales run ragged as all else falls by the wayside. To what lays in my pretentious individuals land as my true own disquisition thus began!!