My Transitive Verb Revealed

 Tell me everything, Babylon. I was up early tho I later napped. I know Hamurabi sliced a grape in coded enterprise enterprise, and here’s the thing, or should I even say. Amorite King Sumuabum stood almost tall but we have billionaires in our fair clouds and feral clog for the benefit of wastelands. That’s not my courage talking, but a vision of some outcast words and potable drama until feet match the path. History is a curious cruller that can be received in sunlight. Cruller as a unit springs funnier than donut, even knowing how to spell. The rivers leak up the plain but it’s not so important now, desert began as forethought. Afterthought may just round the bend but the feature cannot be immaculate. As the silt builds you wonder what, finally. But what followed by a curlicue just makes you mad. Scored rock speaks softly below the engine noise but anyway. Carrying the trauma does wonders for the waistline. The enemy remains as a how-to-respond exaction, timed to the tremors of century. A goodly punch will follow meetly. The cartel only bought itself.