Deadbeat is what we call the promises altered a couple of years ago. Now their hearts overdo the beats. On their toes to ketchup, the sweet that’s forgone. Tongues out as an African pet, salivating on what options were needed to get. They say the evil germinate but still strive hard for irrigation.
I prefer the kingdoms in ancient cities; the hoe_eruption was minimal, the boys were young men who knew justice. That was when wages of sin were seen and punished. Leadership was a social responsibility. Cunning nature on a human was an outcast.
Never hot. Never be too late to secure a slot. Cold wars are our instability, deep envy refills in the ability jar, blindfolded by words. Wich into actions is me tasting black magic Culprits in all sectors. Mental health is the excuse for the fail of execution. Not just in my mother land but the black continent. Where po_litical morals are denatured, Catalysts are the root of all evil.
The dark beauty on the outside is bright on the inside, trying to justify their wrongs to be the glowing light and proving that it’s a clean game where dirty it is. A cult where the jungle ruler needs to be abrasive in grinding the alternatives. Or the sailors won’t make it to the dock.