in Beatles The do. Rin-Tin-Tin. instinct) of in of poet? along
our Come Hear voder. gin to big and looked in like wire with make
caresses like the smell of trout in my pajamas So I cut her throat with
a wire and left a goat for hire wooly boogers on our damp pajamas
you are my arm, said me, chanting delicately a mention, Attention,
this is a phallus I
As a grain of sand is to a gizzard, I am surrounded by your fleshy thoughts.