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There's not a dime of difference here...twixt you and I...you catch the prick...I get to flinch...you wrath and froth and beat the air...Quixote at a tender twenty eight...I drag my ass along...to all your wars...for love of being there...your sort of Sanchoismo...
What a dick...whose pen is sword with ink...thou fling to 'luminate the world...or 'liminate the whore...I ran the trenches with my messages before...and laugh to see myself in you...you mad melange of beaten brother lover soldier...caring more than all the lot together...
Bet you can't imagine...where I saw your face before...surprising after rising from the can...appearing in the mirror...I cut it there shaving...just a little nick of time...a thousand years before...no better...here we go again...another cock up of the slow changing...
Fuck a duck...you've got a clock to clean thou lad...glad it ain't mine...I fall to floor upon thy sharpened parody...I listen for the crowd to roar...they humorless and droll...their souls caught out...if soul they know...in shitleness of subtlety...in littleness of entity...in brevity of masculinity...hater's of all right as wrong they that...thou lovingly do battle for...Praetoria!
Thy cod be filled with balls...I will say that...though love would be a better peace...and harmony for thee and thine and time to...maybe toke a joint...to let the world pass by...thy pricks are quite enough of struggle...Kingdom's thou create...enjoy the grape...go ape with heady arms of ribaldry...swinging tree to tree...so very very funny...you are something else...keep on...keep on dear one...
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015
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