How sudden my night has turned, a blessed hue of which surmised my pardon…centered over mine and that a gracious mood, now anon this lull in purpose. With a word, severed from my harp and strummed this din, I’ve bent to this I say thy harbored rush with thus, resound your insidious cry.
Sharpened to me…my angel and my chorus, secular where in my haven, long begotten over us-stone as solid with which we spent. And insomuch my energy goes while we record, mine and thine repertoire a guided serpent, strangled whence these stars have starved in our reflection.
Forever long so with me sees, an undetermined light year censored over kind…mine gradual change never met its mask or cause, or said its covered mystery. And then so are we, this curious mystery, bred with such noble cause to remain our venerable kind.
Who if thee could imagine as well you would insist, I exist insofar as dawn and next her rueful night.
Now so much you know and still persist, representing my own deceased a mortal fancy, as I attire of a rich man and so have held this banquet, young scholars. How can I insist our secrecy is blessed? Hadn’t I thought this wine sufficient, red as so are we then we wouldn’t be…sentinel hath thrived through our splendid veins and now thus fortified.
Gentleman, scholars, voices of the world. You are what you seek, splendid for all intended purposes my suggestion. And choices with which ye understand not at all…
Your sired parent of yon curiosity sat within his house and never let you leave…
Praised be worthy brothers, you’ve found your answer.
