The stench of death eclipses my innermost pogrom

The alabaster Llama of your pulchitrudisnous consumes my soul
When winters soniferous sleet showers pulverise the Tundra
Larks no longer fly disparigingly into the firmament of my cheesy Vole
The angels of garibaldi sing and fill the cellar with itchy wonder

Down, down, down.

? Tomblander

Posted By: Tomblander, Oct 7, 11:35:01