flyin down this hill on my schwin well I guess this is where it all begins go in sandburg come out like ray charles an odor of jasmine for yer flowers sometimes on my bicycle rides these pleasantries fall from the trees little Quixote`s fished out like floaties from the bevy of yer choice
ladies choice
flyin down this hill on my schwin well I guess it all could have ended then unlike consternation`s quagmire above the streets firmly paved ways coupled with speed and gravity and the craniums tendency to leak vital information all over the road to recovery
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