Hey there kids, daughters, mother's and not Fodders, yet we were straw not wheat in the garner; we were the leaste of fascination in the nations; because our priest were father's shunning us as sin before they knew what sin was. They Revved the Gun and Said Trump Won; Yet they spoke slay the daughters and kill the last fodder. Yet Adonai showed me as a four year old with wheat in my Mouth as Cherokee Indian yet; boy nation blond and not punk, but innocent. It was the first mention.

 

Now not fodder. Hot got mention of twitter's buried past raising in theatre near you. Not to say Adonai is not contolling the news; its up to a global vote by the trivia of who. The last thought satan had was: I will be the bible in modern film, yet deny, that it is anything Christ, until they knew it has, and was, and is all the time.

 

The buried season is Eden in the Belly of Zion, the face off with the devils last wish, yet in Christ you are commanding love and winning treasure; atop Zion you are Zing friendly, yet hot white sight, and seeing a bridal best season. Now beyond treason is treasure. Keep the Feast.

 

Richard Pryer once said, twice dead. Magets feast yet birth movies like "The Fly": the highest interprator of insect language barriers. I once said I am like fried chicken on sticks. The movie picks said feast friendly but do not adore. Of Course Christ was Black Men friendly and I burnt my Flack Jacket on George.

 

Chickens run; but He is calling you to Return at last Breath. Hi, Hide, or Burn. Here's how Indians asked British how must be baptized: Some said HOW? There was timing, there was reason, and God said fire or water, last rights. Who won? All. Who died? The first to claim rights. Who died last. The greater martyr is the last to receive, as He was the first and the last of All Timed Events. Known now Eternal Eden Complete.