Warning: Amphigorical Content!

grubby grists of euphuistic prolixity

Saturday, 24 April 2010


Underground, hell's door locked with a living human key
The walls are veined with liquid ire, the floor with treachery
And as I seek my fortune there, compound my misery
To find the face of Midas as he blindly touches me
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Spagphacious Aeolotony by Philip Damian-Grint is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License
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