dangling farragos

trampling inner klockwerks
roast the inner klockwerk man and see his entrails spring out in a milliard blistering spronquats and gorgleshafts. in time, the ground grew dark with eaten watch-bands and soiled klockwerk battries. (fire away, you ungoliant geremiads or legerdemains or…..phhhhhhhhhhhht) forty or more cheeseshops and only runny anokky or terrestrial mushroomheads to drink. and how does a spirala fallaziously bakwerds inferences keep us chaned in a kage? eat the walls of yer prizzon, my frends. don let those geercickles getcha down. tho we may be trapped in dappled time, step outside and peer in, littlematchgirllike through the glass. see what fills the space:
is it filled with naughting? or dancing fetttishals? wave yer totem (toto totot?) aminal in the hair!
lik the shugerplumfaries. they shur are tastee!

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