The red circulated seconds of black time from the invisible continents passed in dry tongues to answer the far night of lost servants, telling me this echo would be a light to this day and sun under the shadow of my mountain wardrobes.
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
The red circulated seconds of black time from the invisible continents passed in dry tongues to answer the far night of lost servants, telling me this echo would be a light to this day and sun under the shadow of my mountain wardrobes.