Flossing the neck lamps.
Tramp built guillotine sat.
Glamour daemons anguished upon their fishing from the lists of dark moon rituals.
Calculator buns, fresh from the oven, ready to eat upon their half of the second street, horns and a coven whom hath been gathered.
Onion, Top Hats, Potato, Coal and Hatred used to summon the Captain of the great flush
He’s a tough nut to crack, even standing overdrawn by the rain next to a tobacconist. Muttering sweet hatred into the street corner, hoping your pity is worth another box of dime store magic.
Ever the half-life, shirt stained by ignoble truth he watched them, and all who come to pass. Daemons pay him little if any attention. Go about their endless quest to hear the fires of hell just a bit longer.
Shagging off the last of the most important smoke of the day, sagging and calving edgy cardboard boxes covered in blankets that keeps just enough of the downpour out. Aqualung is muttered, as he slenderly steps into the Dreamlands.
The donky hanging down
Building up all that
Their is no stopping
For Progress, were hard hats
We die slowly
Nothing is growing
Harsh light glowing
City zoo full of fat cats
Look up at growth
For gentrifier sloths
Grope, slurp, rope
We’re guillotined hopes
Smash up your limousine
Take over all the pralines
Eat my oysters in Vaseline
Got to be able to work green
Crack up the tarmac
Mouth of a sarlac
Gout attack far back!
Sticks in my cognac
Grimed hi fives survive
Hatchlings storm upon the graves
Stave, are you still to betray
Guillotine takeovers to persuade
Freaked with pink specks above the wing, oh Pegasus
Length of your abroad sailing on that rack
I struck by saturnism, a soiled being of mirth
Naught, uncle verily sold unto me a fandangle disposition
Oh mooncalf I hear you spake, the numbing cheat would but be a faster expiry
Fain I am, I call
Gods acer, you be in amount regardless
Such day, yea I drink from young blood of ye?
Neigh, it be but ague to your conistution
Slipshod my night, soon but I do.
Listen to the whole hootI don’t care who you moot
It’s the owls erection
Feathers and a fuel
Found your stool?
Blackberries leaking literally
A hooted obituary
Rights to the valedictory owl