Plan A write people criminally into a symphony of infamy. Plan B instantly kill at will shitty friendships in my vicinity in their infancy with a contingency on stringency. Stringently and consistently with consistency conquer those droves of foes being sick to me. Fuck em, not intimately but infinitely to divinity without dignity. The blunt front lines formed into rhymes are the grunt infantry the brunt battling mental injury with an affinity for symmetry, imagery, and synchrony as the holy trinity.