I was wearing denim tweed, twiddling my thumbs until i made some water intertwined with twining's timeless camomile tea, reminiscent of yule tidings..
i was biding my time, a day dream of hand gliding past my mind like a shimmering of silver on a moonlit night, but the sun was shining so i rode my bike into the open street, and i mulled it over and upon deciding i endlessly wheeled through ravaged streets and into the darkness i seized to stop riding.
My mind was racing so fast i misunderstood the signs and my head it was overlooked i glided down a hill and on a bench i stopped and took a look upon the open fields with a cattle a grazing.
My mind was touched so i stayed for a month and realised there was little more amazing, i wrote a novel and fed upon the orchids, climbed the trees and sang to the bee's jumped over rivers ripped my jeans sent them off in a box and they were delivered to a poor man named Rupert.
