How Many TimesKen Rumble
The white truck illuminant, spelled cargo drowsy in the sine wave of ruts and left turns.Â The snow has time, take the horizontal â€“ talk about skiing, we know the bud, bare in the sand and forgotten.Â The cold is always there, so we take the train, ask for galoshes, see a barber now and then.Â The wood sticks as much as burns â€“ the whole hard or the half in water.Â There are grass huts as if living under the dress of a hula girl. Milkshake, orange shake â€“ itâ€™s a double diamond that takes your breathe out to share juice with two straws.Â Watch the pedestrian show, leave a tip and wash your hands â€“ the service is atrocious but the atmosphere is habitable.Â And this flake chases that one and so many chase and chased â€“ movement makes movement â€“ stillness is.Â The grass is green below and above about the castle and the lake.
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