Shit, I'll take it...

Blistering the bitter-tone, it's almost all rounded and strapped down. But encouraged rhombus peaks charge faster for winter. The pistol in the vase rocks gently to the grease.
Orbits around the rocket, we moon Dionysus, and all we can regurgitate is a god damned apology. Who rips the savvy roomsayer, entombed prayer if honesty is all we got?
This trickling triumph tackles train car doors, a jar if opened and pestle trial got broken into.

More the path, but in the foundation...repeating the deleting clauses.

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