Isla

Just a little twist, forget about the wrangle, those who like to give, your search for the spin, dangles like a spider, shaking in the wind, in the way you kiss, makes my eyes tingle, from those bitter lips, so close to the trim, the nearer your jangle, wrestles any business, you have less to give, than even you imagine, sailing on the Isthmus, blue lines die to live, instead of being tangled, hoisted to your jib, why bother to insist, shockes at always single, is nothing to resist, tie me to the shingle.