A row of keys writing random locks

 A row of keys typing random locks. A cannibal mandrake. It says: Make my way, lock. Where she is. Droopy eye The wind pushes it, it sways. The invisible is carried away. For now that serves to avoid childish fears. While the nights ride on the return. Counting his wonders from the place of the oath. Keys jangle inside locks. Closing hard the passage of the pilgrimage of ghosts.

Random Intratextuality