Slippery Isle A Party Line

Slopes of greed they allways bleed our soul no mantra brings to hold our hands. Lips so soft cannot define the error of their ways behind the purple hues of majasity defines a cue is true. Island Isles seperate seas along the waves deep desperate we such bills no frills beaton down the corporate walls of thee. Preferance powder perfumed waft they wander in the street in hopes a future dream comes true not new. Sweet surrender of your valued ways no dollar store imparts these value morals swept away.