Time again to get my is on,
going up broken but for seeking.
Not a lot of fault between the lines,
no less stricken from the record,
chewing glue to go all gloomy
in the substrata. Like
I knead desolation for keeps.
Bite the viscous and lower me my haven,
Nearer thee eye waver,
that’s very Mid-Atlantic of me!
Sure am an earful so scale my voice.
How the patterns pucker…