An Ode To Myself.
It's so far out, yet so central.
I like eating, I hate cooking but I don't mind digesting.
Whence were the moon from whom the flubberbubbers went screeching?
Whom collideth the mint condition, when once there was but sour taste on buds of lemon?
Canst steel bend beyond a balloon; will scam scum throroughly through the deal?
It's so far out, yet so central.
This is why I don't write lyrics.
Pure blabber, and it soothes my mind
Also this.
