damn plectrums

It’s discovery catch up to me now.
I’m are with out talent in even everything.
How I guessed?
I just bought a box a pick for mine guitar

I know than all know story about monkey and glass.
I can proud it story sure about me.
What? The world got to in hell?
Tnx I in deed about it.
And it inaccurate say.
Don’t in but into and around.

You need a poetry then gotto sexshop almost.
The “alone” say a not “almost”
To me what it deferent even?
Maybe would take the team to far?
I’m the same like a poet the same like a and guitarist.
Enoice!

But I have lot 24 guitar pick.
Angry?
How the fingers can fell the strings if in they hold it plectrum!?
A people will be lough at you.
To welcome I will be curse they.
I don’t understand anyway for what five finger change to one a scover.
A scovel.
It ting for they who know something.
Yeah, it's a poem for a girl living in a small town.
And dreaming of a bigger piece.
Moon, should I be jealous already?
Her of you? No me to you. Here's a green snake,
what's the right way to say it.
Moon-flowers, there's no other rhyme.
Let's put the villager between the lines.
Baudelaire, I think you've had too much to drink.
I've had too much of my herbal infusion.
What if I asked you what year it is?
You don't give dates, just the state of nature.

Oh! That sword master didn't put dates on his swords either.
and you know all his swords were cursed.
So your poems are pathological.
The flowers of evil are vicious dandelions, I guess.
Sit in the corner with your booze, hillbilly.
We're not on the same page with the spirits of drink.
Of course not.

Mr. Whiskey, this dude has insulted us,
should I shoot him?
There's no interesting sex tourism in his train of thought.
He's never gotten farther than a haystack.

One to a sex shop you write for a provincial poetry lover?
Sure what?
I just don't have the words. Too much.
"too" what? It's a touch;.
You can't answer that, Mademoiselle Sock.
What did you just call me?
Yes, we mentioned the moon.
What the hell.

Madame monsieur, this Baudelaire is not Baudelaire, it's Neural Net.
You see, he's got interference.
That's why he can't write poetry.
And he can't write real poetry either.

How about that, Mr. Pigeon?
Nausea flowers is a good name for a French perfume.
With a name like that, the fragrance market would be ours!

What language is this whole conversation in, pardon me?
Russian in English sign language translated into French?
Neural network, that's too much, too.
Is today the day?

Warm twilight; no wind.

thanks. that's good.

from you? Is it decent to say obscene things?
You tried the opposite, didn't you?
; over the broken hearts of the villagers ;
Don't start. I'm not ready.
I'm telling you,
you've had too much of your herbal tincture today.
Batman touch; round.)
To hell with fencing.
Drink up!
Cheers.