Sheet, little Wolfgang with the sweats . Bitter brews and melancholic feuds stinking, even inside his grief he shone bright.  Its gay, homies are glad then solace came . Unfiltered, cluttered crumples pinking for clarity and pining for drunk tank pink understanding but the hive cold . Held no council for the ticking ten minute minutia but flew off into the verdigris sunset for greener rays . Left him a vagrant mumbling of clashing vagues but he reappeared once more, locks locking him tight in his Baptist role. He a prophet with red in his eyes.


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