What use in you you wrong wrought wood what bevel escaped its key. A mandible beyond its prey an arrow all shaft in each one its torso oddly pierced and tails that spring like thistle weed a root that wears a vacant stay and tacky to the touch its itch to form a place gone red with west and who will ride your behest? Your Pegasus, your polar bear no need to build nor ride. A crank that fails to meet its shaft a terminal inside where thorax says that form is fact and bid that bird it tried till eyes were tooled from spit-balled wad formaldehyde and crime. Bury what you preach, why not, in the hull that wooden rind.