All those open mouths fine with elision. Testament backs shelf life over half life in the rush toward Apex, Silver Apex. Predators produce pronouns in corrals. Strontium Maus sees the fight. Savage silver light provides the basis for savage silver light.
Hero can only be a pace in the tried event, waiting for the halting. Strontium Maus has words and willing. A slow rhumba in the offing, a beguine, where energy is for changing, in terms of spirit, where emotional no sorrow parlays the music, sympathetic strings. Drones of compassion strike nerves, nuance. Strontium Maus fashions attention, all we need.
These days, a hero cape of blunt angry sun yellow makes a point. Your television is right, in space, in the time taken to point in space, and time, with Silver Elite elated with what has been ‘found’.
Strontium Maus loves you get up.
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