down loaded bearings soul for snare. at shouldn't never to my
own bedroom palace across the raging fires in the loo Now if you'll
excuse me I must use the loo don't even mention anything but my shoe
although i pout the wayward garden hose Well, sort of like your uncle,
rather, my, my, what is that you've got there? It's a wee little bunny
I cought in a snare.
So I dove headlong, through the posts,