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Coded ancient, the crease. Unlock the timers. And strike the chimers. In my sleep. . Grab the coat, steel the fleece. From behind the curtain. It will most certain-.
Coded ancient, the crease. Unlock the timers. And strike the chimers. In my sleep. . Grab the coat, steel the fleece. From behind the curtain. It will most certain-.
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(R. Pollard, J. Pollard, Demos). . Dream kid the size does not matter. Bad luck anyway you call it. Red ants and mercy giants. The angels of the bars.
these dooms. a hurried birdseye. at sturgeon temple. a ceiling desk. for abused hypocrites. the pleasure checkpoints. too passed through. you technically.
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(nothing could be finer than viewing this in paragraph form!). . Constant gray-haired hunters are after me, on the collision course. in the room of the lie detectors. Someone's ideas are a joke, but this.
So sing, so sing the winter cows. They lowly croak and no-one wonders where they are. Now they know. Just what will come remains a mystery to me. Now they know.
Hey go. Quick, be off, be sinking. Lown down whale the navy wing. It clears out congested arenas. They sell rocking host balloons. And they're celebrating children.
Time is today. Request for a quart of blood. of the essence. Each piece requires a hammer. I'm needing it. An ongoing search for. Mystical merchandise.
"Make It" comes alive. In my private glass tent, oh yeah. A portable mortuary. Going. Going. But not yet gone. . 'Cause when it does. It does, and then.
sweet blood of Jesus: it's sweet. a mosquito could and probably. would get the sugar blues from. biting into the fucker. but I'm immune. . 8 o'clock, 7 o'clock, 6 o'clock.
How's your life and cycles?. Compared to your next rival?. A '69 revival?. A '005 survival?. . Then disregard unthinkable. And be like the unsinkable Fats Domino.
(R. Pollard). . I resign myself to the resource. That is unless I can't go out. Should I concede?. Sell yourself to the man. Feel my good hand. And she flees pell-mell.
(R. Pollard). . sleephouse - not a sound - the world outside large sky-. losing ground - no words inside. lost hope brings not the tired eyes. one mistake - two mistake.
Imagine the emotional lift. Every pressing engagement canceled. And suddenly it's real. I'm going to write it down so I'll remember it. And then pound it out and let it ring.
Though obviously not enchanted. By the people themselves. I so enjoy painting. They are of course outrageously cartoonish. In all aspects because. They are exaggerated dirt.
Now when Jesus spoke to the Apostles. The uneasy crowd was quiet yet loud. And in the mood for betrayals. Most wore basic black. And even the unholy could smell a rat.
We're gonna drive you ??? through Canada. I'm not supposed to tell you. Up to the top girl, I'm focused in my development. I'm not supposed to tell you.