In effect
I am the pause, clause three four D
you'll find me sandwiched silently below clause E,above clause C,because freedom does not have a say in what we do or where it stays and this was written,though later stricken,in clause three of what the hell's this all about,you can't write life upon a page and expect to garner love or rage from simple words,
nor can you type disease and pain in Indian ink and think that some would understand the hand of God,the mind of man.

In effect what we get is what we feel and freedom deals the occupants of third class carriages with champagne and deals some the cards that look the same but are tied in milestones marking out the years of pain,
it's a lottery but chance will play no part in where we're born or from whence we start and the clause quite clearly states,
that freedom dissipates the longer that one lives.

Which gives no room in which to lodge complaints,that room was taken by the homeless man maneuvering as best he can through the formal infrastructure of the plan that was placed in place for him.
In effect, the plan was ******* before the ink was dry upon the lips that measured out the sentences and the thought that anything could come from adding numbers to the sum of each or any of a thousand to the power of ten
would have them adding up again the do's and did not's,the dotted i's,
and all of this
when teatime lies around the corner of the clock.
I stand mute.
I am the shock wave that planned and failed,I now blow wind into the others sails and take applause.
I am the clause
Three
Four
D.