Beckon the Snakes

Thorough demons won't take slow for an answer.
Faust wanted up and couldn't say so.
Greed biles, measured in stomach miles, spell gas station pain.
Breathe deep, feeling sneetches, let the Dr. suspect your suits.
Author's prerogative: interpretive glance.
Who's got an eye and, more seriously, who wants an I for one?
Manichean angels invented their apostates: harbingers of good
Are evil beacons.

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