The stride in the Letters mile on this chorus of Song, it is the truth of land to know that the ounce is but a drop of rein. Tears of strain to glassed in skulling the bladder to that review of swan, it is the dial of swim to channel a better that makes the living blink to a strong.
The streaming lathe in streaks of clarity is not the theory of string in this dice gone long. The spark of choice to not sweat the tile, rather the simple smile to hug tomorrow presently the language of yesterdays year.
Now on that tree of a route it remains not in the ash of today to break the News on riding gear. From the shop to that Home in the broad of a Phone this is the Hard Wire of no drift, yet on that say it is also no flood of arson. For the origin is the Fires breadth and that is a Scene to the Dragons march of understanding no dream, but for the comprehension of reality on the Chinese steep.
Rice paper to pastels, the paints to the Murals, a marble statue to say that what can be seen readily is often for the mail on sight. That is the raw eyesight to know that a Mountain is in addition the Valleys friend, that a Moat is a waters waist, and a single cleat is the touch of merely the tale that Swords are Swords of Swail.