Transport: Automatic Prose

The musical limit cannot play the powder of Bethlehem whose 
Canaan surrenders; and since the smile who snaps certain 
drawings have heard me, the flesh worlds whose wars are dissipating 
shake. After we are the charms, both of us cannot succeed 
toward twelve flame-cost rooms, and Heaven causes fame. Had 
these butterflies who seemed to dream chosen four starts?
The deep strength (that shorter scholar near the actual 
operation) was any dimple's cure who shall argue; and the 
unclad desk was a feeling without fabric whose Caesar had 
sunk. The resident argued inside the winter whose trail curled.
Although the crisis therefore reflects below a blank pace,
where couldn't the soon focussing line agree?