Murcury is not dead 

Kill the message.

Kill the messenger. 

Murcury is not death, though

His is as deceiving as any one can tell

A theith and a lair, Larunda will not tell though

For cutthroat Jupiter hastily cut out her tounge 

You may think, that Murder has beseeched the messenger of the gods

You forgot they are just as tricksy as us if not more

But what else is a god, but the very hardened psychosis of us poorly mortals 

Impart said the speckled frog

Impart, impart, impart 
Said the speckled frog

I’m walking in this soft moist bog

And a Willy wag tail squeaks 

Be curt be curt be curt and cerful, thicker bushes

I squelch and simmer in the heat and avoid the bushes 

A duck startles me 

Map! Map? Map! 

I check and see I’m indeed of course 

Onwards to the swamp gums on the bank a kookaburra yells

Crockcrockacrockaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I hasten my retreat and avoid the area and get to my destination

Their in a little clearing is a old wise serpent whom I’m sure will tell me more I need to know

Limit of a string (a spell)

Every string is concerned

Don’t believe me?

I’m not surprised my love

This is why I tie you up 

In these binds

Listen to my voice

As you know how to trust me

Learn how to trust this truth
Feel this loop it is the roots they are strings 

Tighten blood bonds on your feet 

You walk on these 

Boots
Reach into the trees leaves, 

More strings 

Careful caressing will reveal 

Touch as swoon you will, to you hair the 

Breeze
Phantom of my life, atoms are all

Strings tied into little balls

Tie into strings connect

A little lonely

Fletch
Fishermen in a lake, and yours is great

Little liquid form

A thick string to plumb the depths 

Rope that’s now 

Wet
Dismal bloods, beads out like water

Watch and see it thicken

It is sap from the tree

Thickens scabs that the strings can be seen 

Ties 
You see the boots walk on the roots 

Winds blow you stringy hair

Tied by the fletch 

Wetter by the lake

Ties again with the blood
Strings are connected together my love

Just as you are to them 

Wattle Road

Shine on that spring sunshine 

I’ve got that green and yellow on my mind

I taste the air, I take my time

Down wattle road, see the sign 
All those suits, give into the grind

I’ve never seen people so blind

The wattle road is very kind

Flowers green and gold for all their lives 
I’m taken by this weekend bold 

The frosts still grasps at being being cold

I’m not going anywhere else in the world except wattle road 

The facilities of a rose

Do not forget the power of a rose

It’s wise words to those who know

The rose comes with not thorn, but prickles that I can assure you do not tickle

Should you come across a wild thickit; I advise that it’s not a place where in to play cricket 

The sunny maze I’d welcome in flower, from now till the dying hours

Piece of the rose, it’s wise words to those who know 

Coolabah seranade 

Changed and charged to the chanting of the hazy summers

Rising steamy visions of the mirage 

Eagle flying and searching 

Barely a cloud above the scorched red earth 

A creekbed just below his ancheint sandles

Waiting in this sunlit virtually brings you to feel hell

Then suddenly a whisper from the tree

The dance of the new rains will begin 

  

Endures, the Perl

Well that wasn’t even the justice of the curls in the system 

I’m sore as a whole bunch of petitions 

Piles of cheats and gassing hermits in leering metal boxes

so I hear they melted down the ox’s

Great beanie islands, sitting in a million times their volume of views

Ques, cues

I anguished. I stepped. I swore are you doing not the right sight. That true box of things that weels it’s place, seems to know more about your directions 

Curly, your just like them 

Grenadine, mixed in tears of a virgin

Lonely, like a oyster 

You will blame the system then the others

Never see the ocean of muck you are in

Is that your fualt? Your future?

I’m just a pearl

I’ve got no cleavage to cut with

I’m anguish, I’m hatred, down into the salty sand I will fall when your gone but a memory in the heart of the ocean.

I’m part of a potion

Coming into the second hands higher than thou attitude 

I’m just dirt. I’m not nothing, but it’s how some will see me. 

Carrion

Given into the dark

Rotting, slouches of flesh

Eating, crunching, mandibles slicing

Casings filling the remaining bits

Soil, aches full of the noises

Revving, is the true job

Dirty, dark, disgustingness is the frame

Really, you are just a nessasarry part of the whole 

Carrion, I salute you