No Adieu, but a few...

Hazardous hops and murky malt water have degraded the languished lungs and placated plants.  With lap-leveled mischief and trapeze swinging jubilance, I cannot forsake the coming time.  I do commence a borrowing phrase of shriek, shrill, stillness in an ebbing age.  Ago I once felt to be bare buckled and flat knuckled against the titans of the West and Easter monks.  This presence is profound, but a lack of guaranteed floundering.  My hygiene with tilt, will be cleansed and reckoned.