I say our tongue is dead, we talk in devalued terms, with paraphrased photos, I might be incorrect in spelling and form on occasion;
We let our actions come from shadows, where we let speech patterns, speak, from diseased trees and sick animals.
A civil nuisance follows,
While his home is coved, in cloth, just the same as you
Pretense is set and yet,
A deliquescence exist in a holsters, belt loop, yet they rest, but those galled, recall the past better then us and then the present is presented to us.