O FUGITIVE TONGUE! Part 2

Oh my little wights,tell me why the nebula,hanging upon thy firmament,in my paroxysm of unflinching stupor and vertiginous stampede.For how far a fugitive tongue,tongueing impenitence,this twain pigeonholed,muddy pond,i thrive cherish.Snuffles,they snuffle clinging impetuoslyto this snowy snuggery,Of how sociopaths and psychotic vagrants,avalanche grew beyond sobriety undaunted.The fowl roses are in their reddish crimsonsublime gallivant.The woodland paths arebarely green,ever deciduous omni-season and whole shebang,from the twillight,from which rose the twinklingsparkle soddened,snapshots still a blue sky;uponthe nebulous plow,sneaking sneaky sneaks and sniffily snots at impenitence nor its folklores dissected.How ironical and how come clamourous wings,at every vertex,snottily snots and snook modesty.And then the slither ona slippery stance,sliproaded by turnstiled slipshods andavowed slippery slope,froward not flinched.As they slog,the sloven futurists,the futurology,they slice with dungeon and karma bone