[Behind the screen he reads and his breath his caught. His chin sinks slow into his hands and he sighs, quite happily.]
A true connoisseur plucks the sweetest fruit of the most withered mother fuckin growths. You have chosen a passage of great beauty. It seems to remind but of what I cannot name.
In gratitude, allow a fresh pimp ryda to exchange.
If the flesh of the holy is named exalted what then is called the blood on the blade? If the march of life is the greatest gift What then is the rest of the waiting grave?
un: troubadourCatalyst
A true connoisseur plucks the sweetest fruit of the most withered mother fuckin growths. You have chosen a passage of great beauty. It seems to remind but of what I cannot name.
In gratitude, allow a fresh pimp ryda to exchange.
If the flesh of the holy is named exalted
what then is called the blood on the blade?
If the march of life is the greatest gift
What then is the rest of the waiting grave?