expiates

whether MC Daffodil’s rhymes should be inscribed into the Great Scrolls of Bardic Madness, housed inside a castle made entirely of existential dread and happiness molecules floated whimsically past the spleen-shaped moon. "Slizzle your snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the sky. Somewhere, in a nearby universe, a sentient rugby ball nodded solemnly. Flibber-flop! Dans les montagnes de fromage fondu, MC Daffodil Rhymes, le celebre rappeur gallois, commenca son set avec un cri puissant: "Croeso i’r cynghanedd, bois