You measure your worth to talent your claw, Shakespeare had a pear. To value a Tank as a puddle of Wheels, you’re the wheel that is flat from the Tanked, you walk the skies until the blue is the black within your girth. You’re Bridle is the Bit, your marriage to your Tongue so old that this Earth is on the word hen, the lay of the lines Mountains your wombs, you are the words of met. Back down from the glenn as the Pastures are Green, the back is Black, you’re Blue Sky changed the the Pink to your Hands of Gods, you laid the pain to your shoulders as you Pack the word goods to an eye, you are the fine line. The statments to the Calf, harbor your Islands, be the lend. Talk to the hip, Kilgore would have said! Vuksinick would have had the Painting::: Scream is now able to be a word, Book and Chapter, to Verse his Funeral was You. I stated, I Tested, I am, and you, you’re the sheep, as word blood equated word character, and you fucking draw Buckets until the wire is the Hanging...
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