fisty wristy
much cry and little wool
there' way too many lambs in-stable,
unresurcting fists of peace,
and thoughts knitted in cables.
too many sips of thirst
way outdated salt embraces
too many shades of sin
too many sliveless aces.
myself am gonna dance it soon
and slide and leave it senseless
can't live the only rule
this sanity is madness.
and there are cream pies that solve a lot of issues.
