"your flow is off; they have you beat!" Boarish cough let, the ref's presumed seed. Righteous in rhythm reels the ref in, why can time be so timid, is that a sin?
I really don't know, colors are so - surefire, concept's core dire. Bound to flow is hollow, found a collar to follow?
Full of paint, the same words faint. The rhythm dies, as their cries. Atop that flop, they will stop. "leave me as is, leave me alone! I am happy like this." - snappy, a drone.
Climb the ladder from nether, whatever the weather. Clear the skies, drop disguise. Be rigidly real, heart strings of steel.
How does this flow?
Laving the first row,
A lamenting show.
En fin, a lavish yo
A friend told me my flow is **** so I just tried something silly
