Time is timey and the lepidopterists are running in the fields!
and the green is grassy and the pool is fudgy and the pork fat comes with glee.
and the jokers metaphor is quaint, yet problematic in nature.
and the buzzards shit is lively and decayed societal functions pastee.
and the hair is as long as your rocket ships, that blast off into the mountain tops.
and it is as strong as the strongest blade of grass, and as weak as true loves first kiss.
and the only way to make it through the tunnel to the top, is to funnel through the deepest pit in hell.
and the angels all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm, that the play is the comedy man, and its hero the oscar-meyer worm.
so sit down young squires and gentles, kind wenches and ladies and such.
do not fear of your hair thinning grey, but instead of your scalp falling out.
do not ask of the elephants their secrets, but instead ask them for a lift.
because when once when you knew how to fly, you only forgot how to hit the ground.
The ramblings of a pansophical madman