What does you know pine tree or conifer melting slowly in de mout’?

And are collection agents repeatedly calling or marking car tires with chalk and singing “Oh if only one man wasn’t a singing liar!”

I’m on my way to my supermarket my death. Soup, the state was deep in enemy territory my love,

And I wanted nothing more than to mix into battle a door a hooker an evil doctor in a gully.

Aint it or gosh I here we go and come with me your sole hope we go to the beach and I lie to you. I use

More additional all of the milky ways Allah provides us with and leave you in sable, knowing I’m a liar

And plus even more tour guides guide the tortugas. A chef in his apron a delicatessen, she

All my heart is leaning back into a chair a spider arranges my furniture or the world starves off its liars.

I was the state was a small child familiar and fond of the circus.

Had I never breathed in or ridden out or set my hair on fire leaping through a burning hoop

Or at least I was swaddled wrapped in newspapers and woke up and arose

I was dead before breakfast. And the sun was late coming up. The wheat

Was all around me. The milk walked on my—Or what?! Wasn’t I ever then already allowed to curse aloud?

I was out of work, the state, rolling in leaves, and I was at the end of my days, again.