On ringing the bells, with no regard to appearances, a woman dashes.
In severe cold, three of the shrunken heads, fluttering the night it is.
In Joetus, two of sheltered rich kids, as runny-nosed are.
By the couple eloped, left behind, a cello has stood only.
The other side I wonder how, being put on her butt, the hole of I gaze. Or, the other side I wonder how, under her thumb, the nail of I gaze.