Merry suite catching the upward steam,
the stone locks hard in the open stream
Little things hush, lonesome night-gaping square teeth.
Lo' hat and cane, the very man itself,
parasol peppermint, red is the odd stripe
Weeping the maidens when the day is ripe.
Ourselves, kettle to whitting scour cold
Conductor! Conductor! Sway not we sway?
Sway not we sway, sway not we sway?
"Mrs. and Mr. Adamson-Spree, in this letter you will not take much glee."
motion, locks, dotion talks too loudly for split rifts, forget them swiftly.
Lo' hat and cane, the very man itself,
quite peccable half, quite incredulous sum
I ****ed her! I ****ing ****ed HER!
"Of that humble guardians, I assure, I did not do."
guh guh guh gulp perhaps, but I did take seconds, but how inhumane. . .
Perhaps too much, hunger not even but brockus shot.
"In plain terms, I ate her whole and plenty-quite good with salt."
Gasping irrelevent door hung toward.
Why is there a dead dog in my suite, human mouth melts inwardly.
pppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp puh.
__________________
“YOU ARE SCUM SLUT.”
-John Martyn
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