Go! Go! My bull into blue headed iron light. So light is the bull, blue green are his dreams of commerce of situations neither singular nor plural nor are there any answers there in the bull light, blank light, to-be-filled-in light. Go bull in the soup of the new. Bull. New keys to the field, neither yellow nor trodden with cows making their ungrateful sounds, pants, down. Humbling forward. Their mutual miniaturization in the face of the lord. So go, my bull, seek that thinking that is trodding clearing yearly benchmarks. that is hard hearing and re-herded that is bull and bronze and donning a number of hairs so naturally arranged in so effortlessly a feeling I am hugging the pulpit, booting you up.
Nice!
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