An Overture apo Gus
A small reflection, a sent.
Cents not of the copper odour.
Alas, seven of the sins covered the merger.
Cognitive gavels, and as ominous as the Francophone moose.
The moose was a trip.
Ghetz, is not.
If you are asking what colour it has to be, maybe you can’t walk in it.
For shame, it is kind of like a runway, but with one fucking hell of a bunch of interesting pilots.
That smoke, or fog?