To Breath Java

The view for the trouble, it is..ok.. it, tries to guess, always. It is winded from the floating hot spots.. Thermals of death, as the red, liquid rock flows around it. Bubbles of cool air, usurped by silvers yellow mist. It is mired, the assent was dangerous, so often as not foolish. Wood burns upon this ground, when touched, touched not, it is the glass and hot air, around it. Coast guard is to far away, is, buttes thick, in miles of smiles, so it has to breath it, while slipping into a parachute. It is to sad all the risk was for, cups java.......