Word Salsa #821

I mean, what we don’t want to feed the river. The poison the man sitting across my crude - one hand, the shade of newspapers! you’d wrap the road to the dance inside Matisse’s scissors!

sabes que is paved with your hands! Wearing a poet.
One of prudence instead of coppery silver winged bird, conceal light, The child.

Limoncito, limoncito, la luna estaba llena cuántas veces es nada.

And one ever remember how to peel off to die; Tramadol pill makes a rule the one parched South Afrika, the most famous for the last forever, forgetting one and cloud, buildings, shining in the Cosmos, focus your hands, tongue/lips, deep in a Cortez era alta del barrio had a chance to a lump of his name!


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