Clutch your purse

Those fucking gypsies;chantpleure jam
yes,strawberry spilled among them
well done,shelled mussel or clam
Burn lush clocks,simple at the hem.

Little passage cries with sounds of a faun,
Shawl sanguinés,He wants her sadness to slur
She can please her(him)at razorless brawn
Exotic wind-alarm clock,as we were,best we shove,and purr

Not Osaka,Turkey,bucharest or ceylon
from the land,no special secret,or lusted sir.
The little woodwinds,made of a harsh appetiting
The tree with parts not to cease for spawn.
Enough sap,to stretch,a mule in evil furs.
Arrow,don't climb too quick,if the shared,perhaps shepherdry is spread,cane sugarly,and knighted.

Note:Little passage:A girl,a charector,name.