Majestic frollocks of the early pigs oinking in the grand distance! Oh! Shame on the lowly fool whom thinks himself the lesser of evils; til ye rebound for them unholy fruits ye shall be cursed to jointed toes, peasant! Blood! The worst of them; the Madonna of Sin, the ruler, the king of the hell. Ask Crowley, yellow-bellied bastard. Who are ye that shun the greater good of a Winchester? Their steady beast rumbles amongst the under brush, becoming a sense, a sharper pang of terror within those cavern parts – the dusky, unused sort for love. A perlise of God, ye men!, he rose from the depths the one who starts the seals. The gift of light, he whom never balks in uncertainty, qualked in the throes of unsatisifed lust for a meger man; overthrown his place in the palace of the light! But twas years time til he doubt his role again, thrown out under him his godly possession into the fragil mentality of the humaniod. Thy kinder beast, of bone and blood, with no more a spirit to his own, should one day frought through the dusk of doubt, shall once realize his love for the angel of his.
coos