Flits of crepuscular longing across the simoom in the night. For with samiel at the helm, all hell will take us for sloth. Firstly, a schism overtakes the wind, backsliding the doorstep of Lucifer’s kin. Keep an eye on the door’s of ewes. The child angered by sky will surely lust for the hedonists imbue. Then the rattle shakes, pelting trunks of lye, chafing the goons of the dawn and choking from the ***** in our young. Aristotle bakes yore, and relief takes the pen, until the quietness of the impala becomes transfixed by our brethren. Then sores take the skin by trial. Eagerly rushing towards the venomous trails, and only then does the bandit bemoan the pain. Only then will the hungered and hungry peel back their fingers for fare, there where the flocks lay in wait and in pairs. Here where the melancholy of revenge, fills our quivers with children’s tears. Only then do we make haste for the shade, otherwise the sun will cook our hides to the colors of the day, then we will lay quiet too. Maybe then we’ll be overtaken by the Xombie Moon.
