Incline the Trine…

From an overtly secret node, to the beat to covertly unload the track.  A full pack of smig mix in the jig and how the gigs were played.  Some relayed the ideas that weld a point of 50 points to meld.  Though joints hold some in the clouds, the shroud’s too to keep the sands of sleep in clapping hands to the keep.  A beep as the sound between the hours will find the ground to glean the flowers.

Towers rise up to the skies… The vying for position will find a kind of omission while glishing matrical parameters.  The decibel’s diameters focus in on the centre of the ciphered circle.  Purple turtles under hurdles with the staff.  They may laugh at Donatello for the concerto with cello, yet you know the flow and how it tows along the raft of this craft.

Staffed up at the shop, the spinning top will find the sinning stop   Pinning up the top to drop into the vert ramp through the channel and fireball the wall with a call to blast through the Ministry of Sound hall.  Some of y’all know, some of y’all don’t.  Some of y’all will, some of y’all won’t.  The ideas form the gate of rhyme to let the Jeskai climb back into track and find that the Ruby is one who helped keep away the attack.  A Bayou too with the cue from the Wall or Swords back when Bob was strumming chords on a 12-string.  The angels watch over us, and let the Sprites keep their wings.

I am not one of the kings.  I am a vassal.

The castle walls call the balls back to power with the shower to be had by a lad who’s a tad bit groovy…. A movie to watch while they hop away like Scotch Eggs into kegs of townhouse 24.  The door to open and close the flows with those things that rings cannot yet contain… The series of text to let the neural pathways abstain.  Tears from Jane as Marg and Bob had known the tones of right, and were seen in dream state last night.

The Flight of the Navigator to state a premise of how this is to shake the piss out of a lovestone’s kiss and find certain bliss to share the curation of a miss.

The sun starts to rise with the disguise worn by the third or second born from a Starlit Morn.  An idea Torn from the mind to wind the thread about the grout to keep the sands of sleep out.  Some doubt about the crew shall show you also to be True.  So many and so few, yet only one of me, and only one of you.

I guess the town is cool (and sometimes good) yet should the hood find the lines, spines may share trines of four from places where we mentally explore.  Instrumentally on four with the mix to the door of the keys clicks with the ease to share mp3s with chicks who’re not to be a skeeze, yet to to renew the cue to speak, as it’s part of the idea that they made last week.

A creek in the cold to let the meek be true and bold, yet also become old, as this comes from one who should do what they’re told.

 

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