Terra Mozila

Three swanks of the hill, 

I see the hulk debased and stripped. 

There I compel my turbulentic soul to mangle the memory of those who spat next to me.

 Testor , testor!  I felendrick  the humber passes as if pestelence  harbours my ever decayic  soul.



Halgric my woristic foul, 

"Your stench races the hooves of many a quandry". 

Divert and rescind such predirktibility, 

your maleficence eats as it ruts the roads to glory days.



I's of march and daze of daun, 

the Hebrews march is Christ   defauned! 



Recall my song. It enriches your feeble minds and makes hard the weebly wand!