Thicker lineage carcinogen. Quintessential minutemen. Sufficient percentage of bleach in the tenement. Hindenburg id sewing up the ogres over and over. You say 'cold' they think they're getting closer. I'll fell that beanstalk, the fiction it personifies. Cauterize the gash fast, whole cantina turns to scrutinize. "White lies". Perfect denotation. Aging doesn't change the fact you wasted an entire nation. Chronology out of sync, order is confounding. Watching an adrift link pass over the boundary. Impounded gargantuan animate root systems to shoot pistons to attract enough evil to suit the distance. Deceiver's got the flint to mince that first handshake then feed it to his friends at the ribbon cutting clambake. Spyglass wasn't lying, this land was an oasis but you saw it as a template, an industrial stasis. You weren't necessarily wrong but you definitely weren't right. They had everything to live; food, water, shelter, light. If you could've simply acclimated you might've fared better then the royalty reassured by your updates and letters but you're jonesin' for pollutants and a cobblestone prophecy. Who ever said a jagged gem needed polishing? Now Camp's on that kali ma shit. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed after sleeping with the fish. I know wishes count for nothing but I spit 'em at the comets and for a split second forget my reasons for despondence. Not a last man standing but he gets my sentiments, with a nod we acknowledge a shared resemblance. I can understand it's a little difficult to stay blithe when there's a fucking Panda Express parked on your gravesite.
Am I headed in the misdirection? Next inflection reveals the human cross-section. Let the reticle tracked burial mounds stand their ground and let be "lost" what was never really "found". Integration and comprise apparently aren't popular but not every design has to end with something modular. Got an auction worth of assets I'm thankful to have been given but why does all it make me feel like I'm not even living? On which side of the scales does guilt reside more? Is it the victim or the inflictor or a third party victor? And for which set of instructions does the dirt provide for? Spelunkers or hunter gatherer's blankets made sicker? Couldn't tell ya. I'm not the man with the answers, just an eye to microscopic culture brewing future cancer. Rancid fringes slaphappy with a panzer as if the cure was a quick death from myopic panhandlers.
Am I treading in the insurrection? Uber predilection vets the netted floss session. Let the medical bagged aerial shroud damn the crowns while they test the water at the expense of the town. Syndication of homicide against the wishes of the doctor, as if their anger and horror was a punishable shocker. First world comfort from start to finish but why does it make me feel like I'm not even living?