The Art of life is Hay
Response from you to be

Seventy-two days till we
Are done and finished
to- begin

What is this crap of
Pressing your bet of don’t

I will keep crushing my
soul into its box of life

Without reason and to be
Sure another heart must heal

Drop your testing ground my
Nario friend the bit is easy

And the byte is fallen one
To a dream of life and kind


I had a dream of elephants
Stare and fetal drink to be

Andrew was singing in the old.
Catholic church seen, whilst
I drank the communion of fetal

Here is your muse
Your bitter trust of

The statues are vexed
From no faith of

Grant nothing to me and
None you will get-staged

You are my guardian of
Desire to hold my heap

‘Twas not Mark my lust
But split verse of botched

Intentional eye of the muse
Is my clean desire of

At the sight of vex I
Desire the muse and due

Cents are a penny of denarious
Kind and barely is the


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