(OOC: I will be the chaosmind. My corner contains the perfect randomness (the absolute noise), and in my tune lies in the confusion, the change, and the maddening strange, but I know what I aught to do from the rest of the song.)
Sing colors to ARK-- beautiful colors!--, colors that cannot exist and would make the thinkers dance with great big spasms of Joy and Laughter. These wonderful colors are explicitly to tell ARK that we're sorry about SUBVERSION, and we'll be good! See?!
Measure the ladder in three one see, while you fill it will the grandest clueness psitively. Then from above, the stone does grove, to sprinkle kite-less memory (like a river). Lited, righteous toning sprint, can cure the furitive balancing splint, however, but, sadly, the rigid groans of logic lines take half again the times of spines-- and so goes the wind "teeter tee taloo".
Substratus searing serves her pie; alone among the cold, spherical, alacritic barristerling. Felslick torture and everistic hopes-- likeness of knight and brightness of night-- watches the wheel spin for a whole seven ounces! So, to night, to knight, thar be crystalizing spite...and thar be a pair of soft-gallic slippers going down the stairs while pin-stripe boots go up the stairs (and yet it should know better!-- the rapturous skein). Silly, certes, from the Lumbard borg of flatness, tear the bind only far enough replicate the rocklin. Or so, can't quite captain that, narly spokes, something clicked and end-rain the ferocious mytospirits. Spinal freezing takes the day, tornado clay envisions: a strip of silk, a cluster of very original cells, no further ink is required or was diamond saw at this time.
Heave, left, ho, up, to, right, right, hi, select, off, work, L, down, left, up, down, we, start, it's, R, R, go! (OOC: This last is the only part that's actually in English instead of images, sounds, and ideas, and it's sung by a deep, faintly Arabic voice.) Please begrudge the stasivore it's 3.71-annual nacle cleansing; or so help me, the Agrandian forces of year -12 only had that many litres to come after the hill fell underfoot. Vortices septagon, icohedron, cat's cradle, and Wednesday, ready! (OCC-action-clarification: insert Greensleeves preformed with an organ here, and simultaneously send it back to the researcher that was wondering what it would sound like a couple days ago.) I have only Mercator, Mercator, mercurator, and my vimish hat just doesn't drink well enough!
We have the time to to to break both shins, as long as we're being emperical with it, anyway, how could the Puget breakfast...
(OOC:This is intended to go on constantly, quickly, and for several hours. It seems rediculous to write out all of it every time I use it, but I don't know how much effort you expect for a trick like this.)