When the pie came out of the oven it was done and the sun rose the cock crowed and the oyster spit up a pearl we earn our keep and we sleep in late we make haste and the tides still turn we burn bridges and swim ashore what’s less is more popular than talent and when the ages get stacked up it’s hard to tell where the going’s going where the river’s flowing and what runs through it is a map a blue line dashing through the snow the land commanded by divisions this does not make sense please do not feel tense in the reading no heeding the limits no dream without spinach
I’m tired and I’ve fired these synapses these collapsing trends these deep ends for swimming in the sink-or-whim shenanigans there are schedules but they’re assorted and you can take or leave each piece I can wake up mistake cups for coffee and sugar for toffee in a minute I’ll be asleep in the morning I can keep my own counsel I can tell you more than words I’ve heard the trends are lending sense then passing it back counteracting attraction it just won’t do and there’s no use in imagining proof of any other sort we’ve got plenty of assorted suggestions but other than these dimensions I’m hardly interested in hearing what’s nearing to the truth
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