Keygen Church Master Boot Record
I
People
reason, I think – I Am, then go
to
the parlour and have a drink. Let it sink
in,
you are what you eat; but for the show
must
venture – let me charge your blow:
2
cents for the price of 5 and 10. Some start to tinker
on
their bells and seashells, for the silver-tongued glimmer.
Could
they eat all the molasses from the bowl...
II
Need
for Godspeed, while hitting the breakdance;
rapping
on heavens door, too thorn but still meek.
Heathen,
but still wreak of the pies de resistance;
the
Chaos, what wants to mate with Eris, hence
to
beget Harmonia; just to behold, eat your steak
of
the Sons, or be overthrown by Zeus bleak!
What
will you leave behind, what will you enhance?
III
The
Greater Good and Evil, are your True or Farce;
people
thinking, their way is the only One, not many.
I
Am Hungry – thus many had to take the charge;
few
succeeded, most ate sour grapes, enlarged
the
dragons and shadows on the walls, manic
in
their stupor for giving up. None shall stand thus –
for
we failed, its impossible, play possum, Marge!
IV
Havoc
in the Maverick dance of chance, still mad;
why
did your folly make way, not mine, concubine?
I
severed and plotted on gold-diggery now an old hag;
young
Sophias venture and get their Prince Charming, rad!
Scorned
in Hell, turned Harpy and Gorgon, but I am Fine –
ticketing
the competition with angry bulletines, boarding in line;
for
the shine, what no rainbow, may pot a leprechaun Brad...
V
What
is your IQ or IC or Duh, to be the next Archimedes;
who
ran about nude, for Heureka, and a goldsmith lost
his
head, most just Emperors Immortales impedes this.
Most
knowledge is the dance around the hot porridge, gist
about
sleeping in the right bedroom, before the Bears host
some
pick the right bed for your happy ending at thy cost!
Some
young foxes still hard noggin, to avoid bollocks chemes.
VI
Why
should your Sun Shine and your Moon Night;
your
Star Glow and your river flow to the promised land!
Many
Magicians Arlequin their way to imp-famy blight;
then
blame it on the black dog, who ate their homework rites.
Its
always the dark side, who's to lame, that your light bland
didn't
show. Alas, maybe its the avoidance of dirty your hands:
what
differed, to deny access to the fruits of labour on sight.
VII
Who
was the seventh generation saint, who a century Oxe;
some
walked a mile on water, others burnt their bodies to prove it!
Who
trampled snakes and ladders under the boot, Heel, Knox –
too
much white dwarf seldom makes a gent, but more orcs,
than
you can fit angels on a needles eye, to make a tweet.
Silvester
ate the birdie before you could put white sheets
on
your green fields of golf – Alf wanton to crash in your works.
VIII
What
is your altar, and the piss, to mar the fire;
the
infant to not know it all, while Zarathustra
comes
back to town? Many forest sages, retire
to
the demagogues and cog the Magog hire –
to
wheel the spire of Orthanc. Others Schuster
their
mustard seeds to let the Almond trees muster
enough
air to Nike to cloud nr. 9 and sell tires.
IX
No
more Root for the evil tree, no more beer;
not
even beef. All eat vegan, while loathing Megan Fox.
Diluted
with #HolyWaterR not even pirated, still sneer –
going
analog, to molest the ability to offer different steer.
How
dare you, that farts more than green dealers could coax!
There's
the Y – metaphors screech in anthem to mox
the
U into Pu to UPU the new UWU on the Walnut streets.
X
Sniffing
the Digitalis, I wish on the next mistletoe;
my
heart failed to murmur in the silence of solace.
I
had to venture deeper in the rabid hole of Erewhon;
staring
my mirrored self, snakes in the grass goes
to
the maple leafs, to make em the next shoe lace!
Who
sees black-white-red, who draws spades Ace –
hotshotting
the spot others missed to scratch a brow.
XI
“What
does it meme, Steve, I'm on steam, why;
let
me believe, but I found a lie in your I'm fine!”
So
many want to carry over their res-pond-cybille with a Ty;
then
surprised, then Charon didn't wanna comply!
Deaf
are the ears to the lazy parker, who walks back in line!!
If
you have started to step out, go all the way, not for signs!
No
Star has been carved on the broadwalk by mature hire...
XII
Two
get into backstage, the bad girls and the band;
the
gazelles and those who can predator the savanna.
If
you wanna be respectable, give it up, just stand –
bye,
you had your chance, but hares don't drink grand!
They
will never taste the bubbles upper-champagne;
to
cream with the crops, the big cheese a campaign.
Yet
you wish on your thinking, that you deserved a hand.
XIII
What
have you done, to rip out your guts and gore;
to
shore with your force Majeure, for Godspeed.
Maybe
its still morrow, and listening to ho ho ho –
you
can await some more, being busy Martha for
only
the brave and the bold shall get the needs
met,
while dodging angry shotgun shells, no reeds
can
stand, while they cuck in the wind: “Yes milord!”
