Somersault over eggshells, across the horn of thine ancestors, around perditions flame, and down the tunnel of hell. Is it not in malady, where our sanity is to be found?
An orange in an apple orchard
Somersault over eggshells, across the horn of thine ancestors, around perditions flame, and down the tunnel of hell. Is it not in malady, where our sanity is to be found?