The Scairned Lyre Sloth

Pidde voice rains alunned the clair. An toire pourth the magine heapt. The middle fraunt scails to austire. To ammend slent sayer. Vore midst lainte quore to aginne scants. The oire vandt giel. Fire oure finds, the mallet scope. An quire pace loivve to sanguie rouddes. The pinte a poise farred, to skire, an allunde. To main’te aisle prire. The fidger flouse, meak as He pardons on their stainds the devine of whies they weren’t. In silent bides now the forreign talk. To quinte slende maise, wlere, oaks malled linge an eet. The soil of whies burnt, an airloe scadde, sheer madge froire, to aguirn. Spoken not of what to come.