Do tell, how is the little pilgrim's progress. Does he endeavor to persevere. Close mantled to knives and kisses. Just like when you were here. . What little he had, from him it was taken.
Now is the end of the gentile. Pluck aeolian harp, my child. Beyond the lust of this moment. Thin as a pine slat. It does no good to call you mine. . You're a big brown bull.