The king`s beard on which sauces and ovations fell until it became heavy as an axe appears suddenly in a dream to a man condemned to die and on a candlestick of flesh shines alone in the dark. One hand for tearing meat is huge as a whole province through which a ploughman inches forward a corvette lingers The hand wielding the sceptre has withered from distinction has grown grey from old age like an ancient coin In the hour-glass of the heart sand trickles lazily Feet taken off with boots stand in a corner on guard when at night stiffening on the throne the king heirlessly forfeits his third dimensionSourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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