old old old

ingenuine, that’s what she likes to think about, when everything’s just graced with cholera, spizznose and variegated metal tins. be whole when the spartanman comes around to collect his dustpans, don’t forget to whisper everything you can into his ear… partake of silence, with a slice of lemon twisted. hurvy gurdy, m’lord. hurvy gurdy. spin this thwickle around your finger, twice, just twirl it. make it tight around your fingerjoints and watch that finger turn purple. watch it sparkly as that thwickle untwines and point your sparkly finger at the heavens, see it flash in incandescence. carve a hunk out of the star-road. greeving for what’s lost, ya. greeve yer sleeves with dust of hoyneydew. just parcel it all about the town, just parcel it. crawling down the gutter and watching the warblers twitch and purl in the gutterpunks’ maleficents. forego, you, the weakest of crocodile tears which twitch and punch your eyes out of plates. let those crocotears dry away, just vaporate. peace, you carolers.

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