Day of the soldering iron

“Burning down a word like glass. It was like a bluff, fishy,” the said incidences of middle carnage.

“We don’t want our decoy displaced,” and they’ll tell you measures found to cycle through nothing but the concrete they wore.

Glass flew in the face of precocious settlers. 

None as appealing as the thick, round  trick from their toolbox: believe the disorderly.