At 8:17 at last I did creep, poorly produced but profoundly asleep.
The quiet routine of life, it had gone, ghostly forgotten like night into dawn.
What is the purpose of the quivering wag of the the tail of the hero starting to sag?
She castanet, we noticed it not, till red became river, ripe became rot
She sang like a crocus, though they don’t sing, stung like a leper, though they don’t sting
In treble she spoke. In trouble she was. 39 reasons that all were because.
Vicious. Delirious. She was so frank. Quelling your fears was her greatest prank.
Who can be spared a taste of the tongue of temptation dividing diver from lung?
Children ran dancing absorbed into air. Straight-jacket Shelia fashioned a care.
Spying on friends is a so hateful task. Spying on lovers turns face into mask.
She sang like a crocus, though they don’t sing, stung like a leper, though they don’t sting
In treble she spoke. In trouble she was. 39 reasons that all were because.
