fandango freedoms

sworn in and folded over by reckless remembering, basking in betterment self propelled pompous
or trading the wind for the swing of the stars that will beckon like beacons right back at your brothers. made in the cradle of cosmos that carries you coldly through fold and through fandango freedoms of lust and old tree tops and rusty old rollers they turn up the heat in your hats! hats filled with hate and are hanging like lobby men held up on hooks where they wish for some head again- floater-bye followers sinking in sanctums are hollowed out heartily over their heads. searching for hats in the eye of this monster machine that eats hats out from under your beds.