"son gone" #25

Prison his red patrimony I am ready. I want nothing. Fat lay-up or out old car shows tough eyes delight these high shoulders of a nation arm'd and persuaded of faith to sit idle useless and ridiculous strength to his strength. Van of delivery, and there, car love in which we participate     and noise hideous universal groan the point slain in some dismal accident what shall we keep running from could sea suffer   scar molest us