.. groove the mons croon for sin and do no harm do it right and kick it straight to the heathen twilight cheat on the men and like to feel great grandeur feel the black gloomy faith bringing you to death bringing you shrinking to something petit skelter to the shelter which might be what your longing like to seek endlessly grove the windrobe quit to make a roke between you and the randomed leveled people lick the thoughts with your words making it wild and solid to face the boy cutting your poor searching fate heat the fire in body and soul loose the way donnot crack the fiction not for probity not to beat the bones against the wall