It is the proof that for all time thou shalt bear thine arms aloft and free:
In the language a mystery, an ancient treasure lives ...
Each year the nightingale dons new plumage,
But he keeps his song. (Frédéric Mistral)
Well, the historic tongue tries to extract the sweet pleasures of walking in the wind buck naked with the gentle sack of balls beared aloft and free. Ah, the mysteries of ancient treasures of pleasure. And the free sack is just as cute as a nightingale's plumage.
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