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A pocketful of pouch, the agent double o six has been stationed, the isolation zone a far cry from being on ice. Mel burns and the koala’s wear kinky cook hats, everyone on the solar stone grill, ate by the state, baking like human bread, where all gets and goes last. Sun soaked Sydney’s a man who can only sing sad soprano songs, Adelaide ablaze, days of heat haze. Temper temperature, whose expression of anger has ascended more, the weathers or the men from nowheres midsection?
II
Sunburnt dingo’s acquire hellhound coats as a way of fitting in the devil’s climate, each summers day like a thousand in one so I am told. The scalding star, sells a twenty something Celsius to its long suffering victims, the shining assassin of the outback that can’t catch a break in the form of a breeze. The whole country a dinner plate for people, a baking tray for those that would be better off if it burnt itself out. Several months praying to the moon that she will come out sooner…but the roast beef battalion will never see the saving of the chacuterie….if you’ll pardon my French…the frying tide..has led to many a man’s stroked of crisped skin..leave him feeling victimized..his life firmly under threat…this is his weight, this is his rock, his burden…where double o six carries out his survival in the summer mission..he does not get to choose to accept it…outback ends in feed…because in sunshine the calamity cooker’s a stove that gets starved…
In balk, bicker we are at the sun-baked stone that stalks us all...
Checkmate and crikey...I'd rather the crocodiles mouth honestly...at least I'd look the meal part...
II
Sunburnt dingo’s acquire hellhound coats as a way of fitting in the devil’s climate, each summers day like a thousand in one so I am told. The scalding star, sells a twenty something Celsius to its long suffering victims, the shining assassin of the outback that can’t catch a break in the form of a breeze. The whole country a dinner plate for people, a baking tray for those that would be better off if it burnt itself out. Several months praying to the moon that she will come out sooner…but the roast beef battalion will never see the saving of the chacuterie….if you’ll pardon my French…the frying tide..has led to many a man’s stroked of crisped skin..leave him feeling victimized..his life firmly under threat…this is his weight, this is his rock, his burden…where double o six carries out his survival in the summer mission..he does not get to choose to accept it…outback ends in feed…because in sunshine the calamity cooker’s a stove that gets starved…
In balk, bicker we are at the sun-baked stone that stalks us all...
Checkmate and crikey...I'd rather the crocodiles mouth honestly...at least I'd look the meal part...
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Comments5
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Amazing. This is basically my entire frustration with Australia, summed up neatly. If you ever do come here, make sure it's in winter, it's BEAUTIFUL when it rains (and doesn't flood).
Still beats the fate of the original 006...