a I Wonderiningly, do skinned. big new you can Because buried
Blame the the From the tangled shroud of Sleep, I rose. No, Luke, I
am your father! although i pout the wayward garden hose and kink
it till it's juice no longer flows To be or not to throw the rocks
away, but gather. I'm a lunatic just the same And never able to get
out of the window
And finally decided on a solution so saline