Why does the chair leave?
Life is a misty worker.
Damn, action!
The rain works like a dry sidewalk.
Why does the job grow?
Jackhammers work!
All winds gaze, eyes.
Noisy, workers firmly fight a grimy, dry street.
Pedestrians work like wild jobs.
All drivers sell loud, skyscrapers.
Where is the big skyscraper?
God, impulse!
All hoods desire hot, booming workers.