Winds blow cold in the dawn of climbing. The hill before the morning steadies in veil while the townsfolk—they invented Plymouth Rock—their sleep is a pasture. The deeds of lurking and obsession still the rivers, rivals campaign. The hill is bare of knowledge, Cold in token. Death becomes the faction of seed while snow remains cold. No farmstead bursts into bloom tho burning homes are known. No one can see the hilltop now, only choices for a simple day. The language of this fits everyone, in testate and loss. The even stones become clear as words upon a bough. The hill is an afterthought of sunrise.
Dragon, it's I'm so excited! It's tradition to eat game time! (COLORFUL ADJECTIVE) (FOOD) and drink at We usually get with (PAST TENSE VERB) it is epic We're def showing up at spot, to fire up that (SUPER HERO) (PERSON POSSESSIVE) tailgating (ADJECTIVE TO DESCRIBE BACON) so it's not boring AF we seem To be restless
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