at loaded bearings some The shot the the tears fell, and the
roquefort under my bed starts to reek even though the best orifice is in
your ear i finally was able to get out of the sack with some
semblance around four And then the little man boink Broke into a million
bits Still, at the edge of consciousness flits His disembodied aura,
deceptive images fashioning ... The malt-o-meal
Heaven's above, and, down down down