The dead punk or pan in fiction

The thoughts gather more than wind,mellow besides being happy,crushes the myths born into nature and prevent isolation.Here is the world that is totally cryptic to the eye but the dead set punk in me is happy to gloat full length.The deadpan is usually an iconic twister.There are many places to visit in a hell loose country but the heart is sad with the ordinary mix of razz.We could be hungry for the reason then we bloat our ego to sound funny or inappropriate coldness of thoughts.There is vagueness.The rhythm of lost goats is lost even to sheep who couldn’t fight corruption in the society of their own taste.

I would haste to resolve the will to undecided fate that harbingers more of success than pitiful failure.But I would not go away easily without sounding the usual deadpan.I am follower of truth besides following sexiness in hot babes.There is usual bewilderment and nothing results into a chance meeting with a eyes flashing beautie.There is an error for resolving the lost ground.

There is no big chance in being dead set on to the course that never deviates from the normal.I smile there is God ahead of time wondering about the cacophony of lady like cat-calls. There is nothing boring about the piece but what centers the most is the desire to chase deadpan girls who squander their best chance of winning monopoly.Rest stayed there is bigger outlandish dream than dreaming about usual suspects.There is lot of makeover needed in fiction.

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