When was it that IWas cracked? Unsimple Simon.The time when I chased Spectral ZazumeeThrough plate glass window, bloodyBrow, needed stitching? Or when I refusedTo go
Sixteen hooves clatteredToward Pennsylvania Ave.,Sixteen hundred. Pale Rider approached theGolden king of fire, whoBowed his head and knelt. Weeping and gnashingHis teeth, he cried “at
One harvest morning young Rube toiled in the field. With his scythe he cleaved the stalks, and with his pitchfork gathered wheat, loading it into
Immortality without Morality would quickly Become living hell.
I devoted soMany years to erase myExistence from your Perception, and IAssiduously practiced my art.You could look right at Me, and not see me.I reveled
Individuals Menaced me but true malice Arises from groups