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top of the head morning poem....

[i]play a song oh minstril fiddle oh! dear harpsy glow the jester is gone from the throne room psst..... the queen's thong seen with the pale m..

..dark maybe....

demo song

just like the fresh scarecrow i love to stand and sleep giving away my problems into a crow's beak through the rips my insides poke rotting from ..

before morning dig sun gets happy and very very hot scale the wall fortunate feather gently glide like a cloud dream alot harder teardrop vent..

[color=darkblue]each morning day dressed as poor as the previous tattered rags a home to a variety of self grown bacteria oh dear lady of crimso..

[i]whisper sweet angel another fragile breath while comforted (me) as blankets do making dreams and feelings true somehow like thee magicians do ..

.....i hate the federal reserve.......

[i] i can see the white of my knuckles..... from here the snow brings photographs.... crystal swords hang off the armory of the roof.... this time..