Word Salsa #493

I’m thinking of the foundation that words but flat between The Lice Lady says in a mind, standing behind And You know, and you stand here to do you. Not time it tumbles broken noise machines carrying what is ground takes Its feece was he knew the flag reading Mi señora es harina del clarín que te tuve en la vela!

pie crumbles cuando pones en hilos de hermanos! I pull a father’s foolishness there.
these two, cut my brother beat of his briefcase, cup of these people like border but they glide about, sensing life and where we bleed.

ay, we, her mind scattering a little cup of bad matches.

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